


The Love of a Good Wizard

by SweetSorcery



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1940s, Alternate History, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Anal Sex, Ancient Egyptian Literature & Mythology, Angst, Bathing/Washing, Bathroom Sex, Clothed Sex, Comfort, Coming Out, Dancing, Dom/sub, Enemies, Enemy Lovers, F/F, Falling In Love, Female Slash, Fingerfucking, First Time, Friendship, Frottage, Guilt, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Kissing, Loyalty, M/M, Magic, Male Slash, Male-Female Friendship, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Object Insertion, Oral Sex, Parseltongue, Possessive Behavior, Protectiveness, Quidditch, Redemption, Romance, Schmoop, Sex Toys, Shower Sex, Slash, Snakes, Snow and Ice, Snowball Fight, Sorted into a Different House, Spanking, Time Travel, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Winter, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-19
Updated: 2011-10-23
Packaged: 2017-10-24 18:49:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 31
Words: 75,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetSorcery/pseuds/SweetSorcery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>History of Magic has something to teach after all, and two resourceful students decide that the key to having any future at all lies in the past, and in Tom Riddle's heart. Assuming he has one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. History of Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All canon referred to within belongs to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, Warner Bros. Inc., and possibly others. Non-canon bits were created for non-profit, non-infringement entertainment.
> 
> Archiving: Nowhere except here, and not in translated form either.  
> (Please note that my explicit stories - and this one will get more explicit for the m/m pairing in later chapters - will eventually be locked to registered users only, so do get an account.)
> 
> Author's Notes: This novel was written several years ago. It was one of my earliest HP ideas, but I knew it needed mulling over for a while. It's always been my most popular story, not to mention my favourite one, and I continue getting requests to please make it available online again, so here it is at last. No good keeping it tucked away like a dirty little secret forever. :)
> 
> Story Warnings: At the beginning of this story, Harry and Pansy are 16, Tom is 15, and Minerva 17. Explicitness (which is pretty much limited to Harry/Tom) increases with Tom getting closer to 16, but please be aware of this and avoid reading if likely to be disturbed and/or 16 is underage where you are.

The greatest changes in history seem to occur in quick succession and are often set off by single, isolated incidents. Incidents such as a young witch's refusal to take the Dark Mark, one of Professor Binns' lessons in _History of Magic_ given to a mixed sixth year class, and a very unlikely alliance based on courage and hope.

* * *

"And to this day," droned Binns. "It is acknowledged in our world that had he not fallen in love with the kind, self-sacrificing witch Griselda Hughes, Dante Garibaldi would have become the Dark Lord of the Middle Ages. It was only Griselda's love and influence which prevented his rise to ultimate power and brought about his eventual abandonment of the Dark Arts." Binns smiled his ghostly smile, sensing that for once, the class appeared to be paying attention.

Harry Potter had been watching Binns, actually listening attentively. Of course, his first thought on hearing the story was that he wished desperately that some witch had fallen in love with Tom Riddle before he became Voldemort, killed his parents, and began to gather his Death Eaters. Though judging by his brief encounter with the boy's memory - handsome or not - loving him would have proven too much of a task for anyone to take on.

A desk across from Harry, Pansy Parkinson's quill snapped in half. She was staring at the professor, then down at the book detailing the story of Dante and Griselda, and back up again at Binns. A calculating look crossed her face. Then she turned her head, noticing she was being watched.

Harry frowned at her and tilted his head, asking a silent question.

Pansy smirked, picked up a new quill, and scribbled a quick note on a piece of parchment. She folded it up and tossed it across onto Harry's desk.

Harry raised his eyebrow at her, then unrolled the note.

 _Potter,  
Meet me in Greenhouse 2 after lunch. We need to talk.  
P._

He looked at her and nodded.

Pansy grinned and went back to paying rapt attention to the rest of the lesson.

* * *

Harry arrived ten minutes after Pansy.

"Took you long enough," she groused half-heartedly, perching on a low table with her well-shaped legs crossed. "It's hot in here, and I don't want my make-up to start running."

"You picked the place," Harry informed her. "And some of us like dessert. So, what's this all about?"

"History of Magic." Pansy smoothed the fabric of her skirt over her knees.

Harry looked at her. After a minute of silence, he said, "And?"

Pansy sighed. "It's obvious, isn't it? Come on, Potter. You of all people should know that the wizarding world would be a lot better off if Voldemort had never come to power to begin with." She refused to shudder in awe at the name, these days.

"Well yes, that _is_ obvious." Harry looked a bit peeved. "Unfortunately, he was an arrogant, selfish, vain prick even while he was still at school, so it's not surprising that any _good_ witch would have run in the other direction as quickly as she could."

Pansy looked positively triumphant. "See, Potter, _this_ is why I've asked you here. You have inside knowledge of Tom Riddle. You're my man." Harry took a step back, but Pansy only snickered. "Not that way, Potter. Look, you've met him." When Harry was about to clarify, Pansy held up her hand impatiently. "Sort of met him. You know what I mean. And what kind of information I need."

Harry was catching on. "You're insane." He sat down hard on one of the benches, not really caring that he was sitting on a layer of freshly dug peat.

Pansy looked at him, her dark eyes serious. "No, Potter. I'm desperate. As things stand, I've lost my family, my inheritance, and I'm going to spend the rest of my probably rather short life trying to keep one step ahead of Death Eaters. We both know they don't take 'no' for an answer, and that they'll get to me sooner rather than later."

Harry winced.

"And I should think you wouldn't mind having your parents back either," Pansy continued, sounding not quite detached. "And your godfather. And Diggory?" Now she smirked.

Harry didn't notice because he was averting his eyes. "Yeah, okay. But look, Pansy - not to sound mean or anything, but I don't know that you exactly qualify as a good witch." He winced again. "Obviously, you're a _good_ witch, but I don't know that you're…" He desperately tried to back-pedal when he realized that these days, there was little to say against Pansy Parkinson beyond the fact that she was vain and still proud to be a pure-blood.

Pansy raised her eyebrow at him. "Potter, I'm quite sure a redeemed witch will do." When he gave her an apologetic look, she laughed. "And I forgive you for being a prat. Years of habit are hard to break."

"Very funny," Harry muttered, but had to admit to himself that her easy forgiveness rather disproved her last statement. "But I still don't see how on earth you're going to manage to go back in time. We're talking fifty years or so."

"Yes, that part needs to be worked out." Pansy tapped her manicured fingers against her kneecap. "We'll have to research."

"Right." Harry stood. "Hermione."

Pansy looked at him blankly. "Potter, are you mad? Granger is not the only person capable of research. I'm a top student, as you're probably aware. And goody-two-shoes would run off to Dumbledore five minutes after you talk to her." Harry was about to protest, but he knew he couldn't exactly contest the statement. Pansy, well aware of this, was already continuing, "Even if she didn't, she'd get it into her frizzled head that she's obviously a better witch than I am and would decide to go herself, which would be doomed from the start."

"Why?" Harry asked, genuinely curious.

"Think, Potter. This is Tom Riddle, future Dark Lord. For one thing, she's a mud… muggleborn. He'd hate her on principle. For another, she's a bookworm; she doesn't know a thing about men. And for yet another, I've spent my whole life around dark wizards. Granger would run away screaming, Gryffindor or not, at his first mention of the Dark Arts. _I_ know what I'm doing, and I'm not intimidated by posturing. I'm also perfectly happy to do as much empty flattering as required."

Something about that last bit seemed wrong to Harry. "Do you think empty flattering will do the trick?" When Pansy blinked at him, he added, "I'm no expert on this romantic stuff, but for this to work, won't you have to, well... _love_ him, not just pretend to?" He silently cursed himself for blushing.

Pansy looked thoughtful. "Good point. We'll just have to hope for the best." She looked a little unsure for the first time since making her suggestion.

Thinking it would be a good time to point out the other obvious problem, Harry said, "We're going to go to Azkaban for the next fifty years if this goes wrong, you realise."

Somehow, that caution set Pansy back on track. "And if it goes right, we'll get to fix the _past_ fifty years. Are you or aren't you a Gryffindor?" she challenged.

Harry glared at her. "I am." Silently, he added, 'And almost a Slytherin as well.'

"Thought so." Pansy hopped off the table and squeezed Harry's shoulder almost absently. "Well, I know where I'll be spending the next few days: the Restricted Section."

Harry surreptitiously patted down his backside, dislodging the peat clinging to his wool trousers. "I'll make a list of everything I know about Tom Riddle." At her gleeful expression, he cautioned. "It's not much."

"It'll do."

"You're awfully sure of yourself," Harry stated with no small degree of envy.

"Your point being?" Pansy asked, straightening out her skirt and blouse.

Harry laughed. "Never mind." Then he sobered. "You're not telling Malfoy about all this, are you?"

Pansy looked at him as if he'd just grown a surplus head. "You do know that Malfoy and I are no longer on speaking terms, right?"

Harry felt suddenly very stupid. "No, I didn't know that."

"I might as well tell you then that the majority of Slytherin and I are no longer on speaking terms." There was no hint of emotion in Pansy's voice, but her dark eyes dulled for a moment, and she averted her gaze.

"I'm--"

"Don’t say you're sorry, Potter." Pansy faced him sternly. "Because I'm not."

"Okay." Harry felt awkward but relieved that he wasn't expected to comfort Pansy; he was pants at that. But he regretted having brought it up and was desperate to change the subject. "Is there anything else I can do regarding Riddle?" he asked.

Pansy looked at him as if she was analysing him. "Just one thing," she finally said.

Harry met her eyes, wondering what was going on behind them. If ever someone plotted almost visibly, it was Pansy Parkinson, but he couldn't quite work her out. "What?" he finally asked.

Pansy gave a slight smile. "You're a powerful wizard, Potter, and I have a feeling I'll need your help with this. So think about whether you're just helping me research..."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Or?"

"Or whether you're coming with me." And with that, she strolled past Harry and out into the cool autumn breeze without waiting for a reply.


	2. No Favours for Slytherins

Harry spent the next week thinking about very little other than Pansy's scheme. It was completely insane. To somehow go back in time - with Pansy Parkinson of all people - and expect to slip effortlessly into Hogwarts classes in the 1940s, stop himself from killing Tom Riddle on sight, and hope against hope that Riddle would fall madly in love with Pansy and abandon his evil ways. How had this ever seemed like a feasible idea?

He finally confronted Pansy to ask this very question when he found her surrounded by two dozen books in the library.

She chuckled. "It's a terrible idea, Potter."

Harry looked flabbergasted. "So we're abandoning it?" He didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Sliding into a chair opposite her and reaching for the nearest book, he was aware that she looked very tired and exhausted.

"No. Absolutely not." Pansy rubbed at her right temple. "It's the only course of action that makes any sense. What's the worst thing that might happen?"

Harry had been going over those possibilities for days, so he had a ready answer. He pushed aside the frankly incomprehensible looking volume on temporal and spatial shifts as if it had burnt him. "We make a mess of it before we even go back and end up in Azkaban?"

"Possible," Pansy conceded. "But not likely." She proudly pointed to the books. "I have reason to believe I've just about cracked it."

Harry frowned. "Okay. Well, we might manage to go back, but Riddle gets suspicious and ends up killing us. Of course, he'll probably end up killing us right here in our own time if we _don’t_ go back, so I'm not sure that's much of a point."

Pansy looked pleased at Harry's reasoning. "Exactly. Any other worst case scenarios?"

"He lures you in with his devastating charms and the two of you end up terrorising the wizarding world together?" Harry had no idea where that had come from; he looked at Pansy in shock.

She stared back at him, wide-eyed. "Bloody hell, Potter."

Harry chuckled uncomfortably at just how much like Ron she sounded, but decided not to point that out. "Just joking," he said unconvincingly.

"Uh huh." Her dark eyes narrowed at him. "Well, speaking of Riddle's devastating charms - how's your list coming along?"

"I've been carrying it around with me," Harry said, pulling a strip of parchment from his pocket and passing it to Pansy. "I'm adding to it as I think of things. As I said, it's not much."

Pansy scanned it, twirling a bang of dark hair at her ear as she did so. "Sounds like the poster boy for Slytherin." She grinned. "Sounds like the poster boy for everything, actually."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked uncomfortably.

She smirked at him. "It's good to know that before he became a snake-eyed, bald, slits-for-nostrils monstrosity, Voldemort was extremely hot."

"How do you know that?" Harry asked, tugging at his collar.

Pansy chuckled softly and read back Harry's description. "Black hair, intense dark eyes, high cheekbones, pale skin, tall, slim, kind of graceful, flaring nostrils - easy to piss off, rather up himself, full lips, unsettling smile… You know, Potter, if I didn't know better--" She stopped there, looking at Harry oddly.

"What?" he asked cagily, feeling himself blushing for no good reason.

"When did you see him? Second year, right?" she asked, still scrutinising him as if he was an interesting new species.

Harry didn't like it. "So what?"

"Nothing." She held up the parchment between her fingertips, looking as if she was fighting back a smirk. "Are you done with this?"

He shrugged, somehow convinced it was better if he didn't hold on to it. "Pretty sure. Keep it. I'll let you know if I think of anything else."

"Have you thought about what I asked you?" Pansy said quite suddenly.

Harry shifted in his seat. "Yes, I have."

"Come to a decision yet?"

"Yes." He looked at her without flinching. "I'm going with you."

Pansy gave him a genuine smile - the first one he'd ever seen on her face. It suited her. "I thought you might."

* * *

Three days later, in the library once again, Pansy asked Harry, "How good are you at Divination?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" he asked, utterly confused.

"That answers my question then," Pansy stated. She gave a snort of laughter, slamming the thick leather-bound tome in front of her shut. It was just as well it was late enough in the evening for the library to be empty except for the two of them. All they got was a disapproving frown from Madame Pince across the room.

"I don't see how," Harry protested.

"Exactly." Pansy tapped her long-fingered nails on the cover of the book, assessing Harry. "Look, Potter. Take my word for it - Divination is going to be more use to us in this than anything else."

Not wanting to point out that it was a bit mad for her to expect him to just take her word for anything, Harry concentrated on the rest of her statement. "I may be useless at Divination - which is a pretty useless subject to begin with, if you ask me - but I do know it's about telling the _future_." He ignored Pansy's amused smirk to point out the obvious. "We're not trying to go into the future but the _past_."

"Quite aside from the fact that Divination is not just about the future," Pansy pointed out. "If you're in the past, the present is the future."

Harry blinked. It made sense, but at the same time, not. He was coming to realise that applied to a lot of things about Pansy. "But we're not in the past yet. How do we get there?"

"You're aware that by manipulating a crystal ball, it's possible to travel into the future?" Pansy asked, not hopeful about the response. She was proven right.

Harry snorted. "Yeah, sure."

Giving a long-suffering sigh, Pansy pushed the book to one side, folded her hands on the table, and gave him a stern look. "Time to start with the basics of Divination and some choice bits left out of class work."

Groaning, Harry settled in for a lengthy explanation.

An hour and countless questions later, he sat back and stared at Pansy, dumbfounded. "You're joking."

"I'm certainly not."

"If this is true, and it sounds really rather unlikely, if you ask me, I still don't see how it's going to help us. As I keep saying, we're trying to go back into the past, not the future."

"An exact reversal of everything I've just told you. It's beautifully simple," Pansy stated as if it should make sense.

Harry stared at her. "You're either more brilliant than Hermione, or completely barking."

She grinned. "Well, I know which it is. The question is: are _you_ willing to put that famous Gryffindor courage to use and find out?" When no answer was immediately forthcoming, she leaned across the table and whispered, "I know that Granger was using a time turner to get to all her classes during third year."

"How?" Harry asked, shocked. He knew the thing was a restricted magical object, and Hermione hadn't even told him and Ron about using it. "How could you possibly know about that?" he demanded.

"Let's just say I had a pretty full time-table myself, and we ran into each other a fair bit." Pansy let that sink in.

Harry's eyes widened. "You were using one too?"

She looked resigned and weary. "No, Potter. You see, Slytherins don't tend to get special favours from the headmaster. I had to work out my own way to manipulate time."

Harry fell back against his chair and stared at her. He didn't know what to say in either Dumbledore's or Hermione's defence. He didn't know whether there was anything he _could_ say. "When you say you worked out your own way…" he began cautiously.

Pansy snorted. "Yes, Potter. The one thing to be said for being raised in a Death Eater household is that you tend to be ahead of the curriculum here." She smirked. "Not to mention sideways of it."

"You used dark magic?" Harry's voice didn't hold accusation, just curiosity.

Pansy realised that and responded more openly than she might have otherwise. "Combined with Divination, yes. There's nothing inherently 'dark' about temporal magic, except that if you start changing things in the past, you potentially wreak havoc with the future. Though personally, I don't agree with the idea that changes are necessarily for the worse."

Harry nodded. He certainly agreed with that himself. "You've been doing this since third year?" He was more than a little impressed.

Grinning, Pansy explained. "I've never yet used it to do anything but make it to extra lessons. What I've known so far hasn't allowed me more than an hour's time shift. But by forth year, when my housemates started going on about initiation ceremonies and Death Eater rituals and similarly disgusting things, I started thinking about more… elaborate forms of temporal magic." She waved her hand over the stacks of books between them. "There couldn't be a better reason to figure it all out than this, could there?"

Harry chewed his lip thoughtfully. "You're right." He assessed her in a whole new light. "Necessity is the mother of invention," he quoted.

"Huh?" Pansy frowned.

"Muggle saying." Harry grinned at her look of horror. "Okay. So we assume you know what you're doing. But I have two more questions first."

Pansy shrugged. "Go ahead."

"How do we get back here?"

"We find a crystal ball in the past, and use that."

Harry nodded. If this insane plan should actually work once, it probably would again.

"What's the other question?" Pansy asked, stacking the books to float them back to their respective shelves.

"If we make a mistake while we're… you know… stuck inside the crystal ball…"

Pansy looked at him. "We get crushed to fine dust by a million crystal particles." She wandered off, levitating books in front of her. "Goodnight, Potter."

Harry stared at her back. "Not bloody likely," he muttered.

Pansy chuckled as she disappeared around a shelf.


	3. Consorting with the Enemy

"Harry, is there anything you'd like to tell us?" Hermione asked over breakfast the next morning.

Harry's fork remained poised in front of his mouth as he cursed whatever law of nature had Hermione knowing about every bloody thing that went on. He decided to try for innocence. "No, what do you mean?" Quickly gulping down his bite of food, he mumbled à propos of nothing, "I love it when they put chives into the scrambled eggs."

Ron, who had been chewing his lip uncomfortably, smiled at Harry. "Oh, me too!" Clearly relieved at the change of subject, he began to list his favourite breakfast foods.

Hermione would, of course, have none of it. "Oh, do be quiet, Ronald. Go on, Harry."

"Go on about what?" Bloody hell, what should he tell her?

"Well, you see…" started Hermione.

"We're probably better off not knowing," Ron interrupted, then pointed across the table. "Pass the butter?"

Harry did. "Not knowing what?" he asked reluctantly after all, because it was simply odd that Ron should not be full of all sorts of questions, considering.

Ron grit his teeth, but Hermione grinned at Harry. "You know you can tell us anything, don't you?"

"Uh, yes. I guess so." Harry scratched the back of his neck. He tried to work out whether they could possibly know what he and Pansy were up to. Either way, he was inclined to agree with Ron - his friends were better off not knowing.

"Of course you can," Hermione said sternly. "Even if you're… well…"

"Consorting with the enemy?" Ron offered.

Hermione glared at him. "Slytherins are not automatically the enemy, Ronald," she said, as if the thought had never crossed her mind before.

"Yeah, right," said Ron, thoroughly unconvinced.

Meanwhile, Harry was fidgeting. He rather thought that Riddle being Voldemort cancelled out what house he was associated with, but just as he was about to come clean and tell all, Hermione clutched his arm and squeezed. "We'd like you to know, it's fine with us if you're going out with Park… Pansy," she said, even while looking as if the name tasted bad.

Harry blinked. "What?"

"I mean, she's not your usual kind of Slytherin, is she?" Hermione chatted on, sounding as if she was desperately trying to convince herself. "I suppose she's all right. And at least she spends a lot of time in the library."

Harry burst out laughing, which caused Hermione to look very offended. He was thinking fast, and realised that if he didn't want to tell his friends just why he was spending a lot of time with Pansy, he'd have no choice but to go along with their misconception. "So, you've seen us then?" he asked cautiously.

"Neville was leaving one of the greenhouses the other day and saw the both of you coming out of another one," said Ron, looking decidedly unhappy. "You were both looking kind of… flushed. Apparently."

'So would you, coming out of a greenhouse,' Harry thought. Aloud, he merely said, "Ah."

It didn't matter, because Hermione was only too happy to keep talking, now that the subject had been broached. "I saw you in the library with her the other evening, Harry, and I know you don't spend a lot of time there unless there's a really good reason." She grinned. "You were giving her a note and blushing. It was really rather cute."

Oh God! His note listing Riddle's… uh, particulars. "Thanks," Harry muttered, knowing he was blushing _again_.

Ron sighed. "Well, Slytherin or not, at least Parkinson is pretty ho-- Ow! Hermione!" He rubbed his shin, glaring across the table.

Hermione sniffed. "Anyway, Harry. We're all right with whoever you like. We just want you to know that."

"Thanks. That's a relief." Harry didn't have to force the grin on his face; he really was extremely relieved. For once, Hermione was barking up entirely the wrong tree.

* * *

"We need to decide on a date," Pansy muttered while making a list of something or other in a notebook on her lap. She and Harry had taken to meeting in the Room of Requirement to avoid uncomfortable questions and drawing attention to themselves. They had 'furnished' the room very sparsely with a sofa, an armchair, a low table to hold Pansy's books, and a stack of notepaper.

Harry, who was curled up in the armchair, nodded. "I've had a talk to Moaning Myrtle about that."

Pansy snickered. "You're kidding."

He glared at her. "No. She was killed by the basilisk when the Chamber of Secrets was opened. Since we're going to be messing about with all sorts of things anyway, we might as well try and save her."

"It really is true about that 'saving people thing' of yours." Pansy grinned.

"Isn't that the point of our little trip?" Harry asked heatedly. "We're not just going back for our own sake!"

Pansy sighed. "I was just taking the piss, Potter. Of _course_ we'll heroically sweep in to save Myrtle, and thus generations of Hogwarts students from being perved at in the Prefect's bathroom. Happy?" She tilted her head at him when he snickered.

"Oh, all right. I have to remember I'm dealing with a Slytherin here. The soul of compassion, you lot are."

"You'll be dealing with two Slytherins soon," Pansy declared cheerfully, not deterred by Harry's glare. "So, when did Myrtle start her moaning?"

"Well, she was going on a bit when I asked her, but from what I can figure out, the Chamber was opened in early 1943. We need to get there before then."

"Which year would Riddle have been in?"

Harry picked up his own notes. "Fifth. Bugger." He frowned. "He looked much older than that in the diary. We won't be in the same year; that'll make things harder."

"No, this is good, actually," Pansy said. "Apparently, the curriculum was a lot tougher back then, so if we get ourselves sorted into fifth year, we'll be better able to deal with… stuff, without falling behind in class."

Harry laughed out loud. "You're worried about our _classes_? You're quite sure you don't get along with Hermione, though," he teased.

"Very sure." Pansy pouted. "Anyway. Riddle was apparently the most brilliant student in Hogwarts history. I don't think looking like a pair of dunderheads is going to help us impress him."

"I wouldn't worry if I were you."

"It's you I'm worried about, Potter." Pansy grinned across at him, dodging the notepad Harry hauled at her head. "Let's aim for late 1942 then. I really don't think I can get us there on a fixed date."

Resigned to having to repeat an entire year, Harry sighed. "What do we do for money?"

"Take plenty with us, of course. I assume you have enough?"

Harry nodded. "Enough for both of us and then some."

"Really? Then why do you dress like a street urchin?" She cackled at Harry's glower. "Well, thanks for the offer, Potter, but I've got my own." She added another item to her list. When she realised Harry looked surprised - it was well known that Pansy had been disinherited - she shrugged. "I may possibly have siphoned off some of the Parkinson family fortune before making my allegiances known."

Harry laughed. "I suppose that's a shopping list you're making?" He'd been half-joking, but when Pansy nodded, he laughed even harder.

"Of course." Pansy struck out an item and replaced it with something else. "I've been looking at old wizarding photos from the 40s, and believe me, you'd better make a list yourself. People had a lot more class back then." She looked supremely happy about that.

Slightly exasperated, Harry said, "I take back what I said before - you're nothing like Hermione. Except for the bossy thing."

"Thanks, Potter." Pansy grinned at him. "Oh, by the way, you need to get a haircut. Men didn't walk about with birds' nests on their heads back then either."

"Enough!" Harry stood up, throwing his hands in the air. "We're not doing all this for a lark. And my hair is uncuttable, just so you know."

Pansy studied him with a grin on her face. "Oh well, I suppose you can pull off the bed hair look. It's almost cute on you."

Harry sputtered. "Parkinson, you're the one who's going to try and ensnare Voldemort. I really don't see how _my_ hair matters either way."

"No, of course not," Pansy said quite agreeably, adding _a few stylish men's accessories, preferably green_ to her list. "But as the most sensible thing for us to do is to pose as relatives, I want to make sure you don't make me look bad."

"Relatives?" Harry sounded horrified.

Pansy didn't find that at all flattering. "I was thinking of cousins. We can't pose as siblings, because it would be too easy to trip up on details; cousins aren't expected to know everything about each other. I suppose I had better get used to addressing you as Harry. I've got our background all worked out, by the way."

"Oh well, everything's perfect then." Harry fell down on the far end of the sofa. "What on earth am I going to tell Ron and Hermione?"

"Are they leaving for the Christmas holidays?"

"Yeah."

Pansy nodded sagely. "We'll be done with our preparations by then, so that'll work out well. If we miscalculate by a few days, there won't be quite as much fuss." She grinned. "With any luck, your friends will never know anything about all this."

"And if it all works out, there won't be a barking mad Voldemort to worry about in this time," Harry mused.

"That's the plan." Pansy drew a bold line at the end of her shopping list. "Hogsmeade weekend coming up. I suggest we make a little side trip to Diagon Alley. I can Apparate us both."

Harry snickered. "I won't even ask."

"Beginning to see the uses of a clever cousin, Harry?" Pansy grinned.

"I certainly am, Pansy." When she looked a bit too smug at that, Harry added, "But I'm doing my own clothes shopping, and there'll be no haircut."

She shrugged and added the following to her list: _consider using Imperio on ~~Pot~~ Harry_.


	4. It's always the Details

"You're sure you don't want to come to the Burrow?" Ron asked for the hundredth time when Harry saw his friends off at the station. "Hermione is coming on Boxing Day, you could at least join us then."

Harry sighed. "Sorry, Ron. I promised Pansy I'd stay here; you know she can't go home." He winced internally.

"Well, I think that's very sweet of you, Harry," Hermione chimed in. "Though it's strange that you never brought her up to the common room or anything. I mean, with her being your girl-friend."

"She's… uh… shy." Harry wished that either the ground would swallow him up, or that the bloody train would arrive.

"Parkinson is shy?" Ron snorted, and even though Hermione poked him in the ribs, she looked anything but convinced herself.

"Well, it's awkward, you know," Harry muttered. "Slytherins not usually being very welcome in the other houses and all." With a stab of guilt, he realised just how true that was.

"Oh, Harry." Hermione sighed. "I'm sorry. We should have--"

At that moment, the train pulled into the station with a loud hoot, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. 'Awkward' certainly didn't begin to cover what this conversation was quickly becoming. The hordes of students on the platform started jostling and shoving, and suddenly, there was more noise than in the owlery.

In the midst of it, Hermione was muttering vague apologies for not making Pansy feel welcome, and Ron was muttering vague apologies for not being able to invite her to the Burrow without his parents' permission, and Harry smiled and nodded through it all, accepting their hugs and back-slaps with a sense of detachment.

Mercifully, yet sadly, less than ten minutes later, the train pulled out of the station. Both his friends were waving from a window.

Harry waved back, feeling an almost portkey-like tugging in his stomach and assuming it was regret about all the half-truths he'd been spinning. "Goodbye," he said softly to himself, continuing to wave until the train was well out of sight. Only then did he turn to walk back up toward the castle. He had to pay a last visit to Hedwig in the owlery, and then keep a rather important appointment in the Divinations classroom.

* * *

"Well, here we are," Pansy stated. She was wearing a calf-length olive coat with deep pockets which held half a dozen shrunken suitcases containing her entire life. Her voice was calm, and only the way she fussed with her short black hair - now laid into soft waves - betrayed her nervousness.

Harry nodded, giving the crystal ball resting on the table in front of them a very dubious look. His hands were in his pockets, fidgeting with his single suitcase in the left and a spare miniature crystal ball in the right. The back-up crystal ball was there solely to make him feel better about coming home whenever he wanted to. Not that he would have a clue how to do it without Pansy.

"Ready, Harry?"

He met Pansy's eyes from under his overly long bangs of hair - there had been no haircutting, but he'd been convinced into buying some decent-looking clothes at least which, according to Pansy, were timelessly elegant, such as the dark wool trousers and matching coat he was wearing then. "As ready as I'll ever be," he said softly.

Pansy gave him an encouraging nod. "Hands on the crystal then."

They rested their hands on the time-charmed crystal ball, and Pansy spoke the long and complicated incantation which would throw them back into the past.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the ball began to glow a brilliant white; a sphere of light formed around it, expanding further and further out until it encased both of them. And with a pull which would put even the dodgiest portkey to shame, they were yanked forward into the centre of the glow headfirst. Everything turned blindingly bright and upside down, and then… pitch-black.

* * *

Harry came to first, groaning with nausea and pain. He seemed to have landed very hard in a pile of rubble, bits of which were poking into his backside, kidneys and shoulder blades. He dislodged thick shards of wood that looked like kindling and tossed it aside, actually glad Pansy had made him buy the nicely padded wool coat. "Pansy?" he called out.

There was another groan from a couple of feet away, followed by, "We should have done this on a bed in one of the dormitories. Bugger, it's always the details!" Pansy sat up and came into view, plucking wood chips out of her hair and from inside her coat.

Harry chuckled. "Let me guess - we landed exactly where we left?" The wood looked very much as if it had once been one of the ancient tables in the Divinations classroom. And now that Harry was able to suppress his nausea enough to focus, there was the unmistakable smell of incense in the air. Thankfully, it was less overwhelming than in Trelawney's classes, and the hideous drapes and accessories around the room were in distinctly more muted colours than he was used to. "Bloody hell, it worked." He grinned.

"Yes. I got the location perfectly," Pansy declared smugly, struggling to her feet and shaking out her coat; her cases rattled merrily in the pockets. "Let's hope this isn't 1972 or anything horrid like that." She gritted her teeth, definitely not wanting to run into her parents, or anyone else wearing the fashions of the day.

Harry, slipping on tiny bits of crushed crystal, got up as well. "How do we find out?" he asked.

Pansy looked around, chuckled, and pointed to the calendar on the far wall. She made a sprint for it, but Harry got there before her. "Yes!" he declared. "September 20th., 1942."

They grinned at each other. "Am I a genius, cousin mine?" Pansy asked smugly.

"You're pretty good," Harry conceded.

"Actually…" Pansy bit her lip. "It's probably only fair to tell you that your coming along might have a lot to do with us getting here in one piece." When Harry narrowed his eyes at her, she grinned. "The only reason why dark wizards don't merrily skip back and forth through time by our method is because you have to travel with a good wizard - and I wasn't quite 100% sure I qualified - and entirely good intentions."

Harry gaped at her. "You're telling me this _now_?"

"You must admit," Pansy reasoned. "Telling you beforehand would have been pretty stupid."

Harry shook his head, threw his hands in the air, stared at Pansy some more, and finally sucked in a deep breath through his teeth. "You certainly are a piece of work, Pansy Parkinson."

"I'm quite amazing, really." Pansy grinned. "Well, we'd best vanish the mess we made arriving and go see the Headmaster. Dippet, wasn't it?"

Harry nodded, wondering what other nasty surprises she might end up springing on him.

* * *

Five minutes later, they stood in front of the gargoyle guarding the headmaster's office, throwing the name of every Honeydukes sweet they could think of at it. It remained very firmly shut.

"Clearly, a sweet tooth doesn't come with the job," Harry mused.

Pansy kicked at the door lightly with the tip of her buckled shoe. "We should have asked that mangy boy who ran away from us before."

"Humbug!" Harry yelled.

Pansy raised her eyebrow at him.

He shrugged. "Might as well start on muggle sweets."

"What are you trying to do?" came a disapproving and faintly familiar voice from behind them. "Richard Lester came to tell me strangers were trying to break into the headmaster's office."

They turned to face a tall girl with deep blue eyes and black hair held in a tidy bun. She was dressed in school robes but wore a muted green and blue tartan cardigan underneath. The look she gave them was halfway between curious and suspicious.

"Um… we…" Harry started, glad his 'cousin' was infinitely more eloquent, even in bizarre situations like this one. He nudged her in the side to prompt her to speak.

Pansy gave a little squeak. "Oh, hello. We… could you… I mean…" She was fidgeting, there was no other word for it.

Harry frowned at her, then looked back at the other girl. How on earth had they forgotten to prepare themselves for encountering people like, for example, Minerva McGonagall?

With Pansy gaping at her like a fish and being no help at all, Harry put together his scrambled mind enough to say, "Hello, prof… I mean, hello. We've just arrived, and we'd like to see the headmaster." He smiled. "Could you maybe give us the password?"

McGonagall assessed him with a raised brow, then apparently found him trustworthy enough to step forward and tell the gargoyle the password: _Single Malt Whisky_.

Pansy had managed no more than to turn on her heel and stare between the moving gargoyle and the girl, who asked, "How did you know where to find the headmaster's office?"

"Someone we ran into told us," Harry lied quickly.

"Hm." McGonagall frowned. "You're new students? Why didn't you get here three weeks ago?"

'Good question,' Harry thought, about to come up with a reason, but Pansy had found her composure again. "We've been on a trip. With my parents. Didn't make it back quite in time for the beginning of the school year." She held out her hand. "Pansy Parkinson."

"Harry Potter," Harry said, glad they'd decided not to bother with made up names - it wasn't as if anyone would recognise them, and they'd only trip up over them.

The girl shook Pansy's hand, then Harry's, giving them both a friendly but reserved smile. "Minerva McGonagall, head girl." Her smile softened a little. "Come on, then." She stepped onto the moving staircase, and Harry and Pansy followed her obediently at a slight distance.

While the stairs were noisily grinding their way up, Pansy leaned close to Harry to hiss in his ear, "What _happened_ to her between now and… well, then?"

Harry shrugged. "Time?" he suggested, but Pansy frowned and shook her head.

If a young McGonagall was a pleasant surprise, the current headmaster was something of a let-down. He sported a long white beard not unlike Dumbledore's, but it was rather thin, just like the hair on top of his head. He was friendly enough, but seemed insecure and dithered something awful, and they ended up answering as many of the head girl's questions as of his.

Harry was content to let Pansy do most of the talking; luckily, she had regained her composure. The upshot of their story was that Harry was an orphan living with his aunt and uncle - Pansy's parents - in a remote house in the far north of Scotland. Pansy's parents had taught them at home, but thought it would be best if they were to complete their education at a proper wizarding school. Yes, they were both sixteen, but had been instructed to request placement in fifth year to even out any discrepancies in the home schooling curriculum.

Minerva McGonagall looked surprised at this, but Dippet agreed readily. "We'll have to get you sorted into houses, of course," he said. "There are four of them here. Our head girl can tell you all about the process and show you around. If you wouldn't mind, Miss McGonagall?"

She agreed politely, and they were all sent on their way with instructions to come and talk to him should any problems arise.

"Do you have all your belongings on you?" McGonagall asked, and Harry and Pansy nodded. "Well, it's only a wee while until dinner, so I'll show you the main areas of the castle and tell you how things work. Can't get you settled into dormitories until we know where you'll be sorted, of course."

"Thank you, you're being very kind," Pansy said with a smile.

McGonagall returned it briefly, then averted her eyes and ushered them down the main staircase with a murmured, "Nae bother."

Harry frowned at the exchange. Girls always had been a mystery to him.

* * *

By the time they were finally being led into the Great Hall, both Harry and Pansy were rather nervous. Every face in the room turned to stare at them - they were not yet wearing appropriate school robes - and much whispering and speculation was taking place.

Both Harry and Pansy felt a little awkward when they noticed Dumbledore at the head table, but didn't have a chance to talk at all before Dippet rose to announce the arrival of two new fifth year students, and McGonagall gave them an encouraging smile. "Come to the front with me, and I'll put the Sorting Hat on you."

Harry approached the chair first, knowing it would give him the opportunity to look around and try and spot Riddle. At the same time, spotting Riddle was the last thing he wanted to do. He hoped desperately that his temper wouldn't run away with him once he looked into that monster's face.

 _Well, well, well…_ the Sorting Hat started. _We have an interesting conundrum here, haven't we?_

Harry tuned out its chattering, as well as every other sound in the Great Hall, and let his gaze drift to the Slytherin table. Despite the fact that every pair of eyes in the room was currently on him, it seemed inevitable that he met Riddle's gaze within seconds. A dizzying combination of loathing and surprise had Harry swaying on the wooden stool, and the Sorting Hat wobbled unsteadily on his head, causing a few younger students to giggle.

Pansy was frowning at him, then followed his gaze until her eyes widened. Minerva McGonagall was looking a little concerned and held out her hand in case she would need to balance either Harry or the hat.

Harry was oblivious to everything. Fathomless eyes were fixed on his own, at once familiar from the diary and completely different because it had been years since Harry had seen Voldemort as anything other than a twisted parody of a man with the eyes of a snake. The humanity of the eyes now holding his was more unsettling than he ever would have expected. A small frown appeared between Riddle's elegant brows, and that was something Harry vaguely remembered; he wondered why Riddle frowned like that so much, then cursed himself for bothering to wonder.

The other boy's dark eyes blinked once, and Harry's own closed for a moment, and with a rush, all the sounds in the Great Hall came back, and to Harry's utter horror, the Sorting Hat cheerfully screeched, "Slytherin!"

Harry's jaw dropped. He cursed himself for not having listened to what the blasted hat had been going on about. How could he let that happen this time? It didn't make him feel any better at all to see Pansy hold on to her composure by a thread, her hand in front of her mouth and the odd snicker escaping her as she watched him. He knew he'd gone white as a sheet.

"Better go sit down before you fall down, Potter," McGonagall said helpfully, removing the hat. Her expression was unreadable, but her voice warm. "Go on and join your housemates at the Slytherin table."

He nodded automatically, making his way there on shaky legs. He tried to tell himself that it would be useful for him to be in Slytherin so he could keep a better eye on Pansy's progress. By the time he'd almost convinced himself that there really was a silver lining to this cloud, he realised the only empty seat at the table was next to Riddle, whose housemates kept a noticeable distance from him. 'Of course, who'd sit by the monster's side?' Harry thought. 'Except me.' He felt himself going quietly hysterical.

Riddle frowned at him again, but nevertheless gathered the folds of his cloak close so there was enough room for Harry to climb over the bench. When Harry stumbled dizzily in the process, Riddle grabbed hold of his arm and steadied him.

Harry couldn't suppress a shiver. It was inconceivable for Riddle's hand to be warm through his thick sleeve, as if he was actually human. "Thanks," he muttered. He knew he had better remember that this Riddle next to him was not a monster yet, or he would go and ruin all his and Pansy's plans. There was too much at stake to let hatred get the better of him.

Riddle nodded at Harry, looking confused by the other boy's reaction. His eyes were certainly no less unsettling close up than they were at a distance. Harry supposed Pansy would waste no time in telling him how very good-looking Riddle was.

Meanwhile, Pansy had taken a seat on the stool up front, smiling at McGonagall when the older girl placed the Sorting Hat on her head. It had barely touched her hair when it shouted out, "Gryffindor!"

Pansy yelped as if it had bitten her. _"What?"_

There was a fair bit of snickering going on in the hall. The usual reaction to being sorted into Gryffindor was one of smug pride or at least satisfaction.

"Welcome to Gryffindor," McGonagall said with a hesitant smile as she removed the hat. She looked a little disappointed when Pansy didn't jump for joy, but probably assumed it was because she'd have liked to be near her cousin.

Pansy stood up, struggling for composure. "Thanks," she croaked, returning the other girl's smile uncertainly.

"Come sit with me," McGonagall said, placing the hat on the stool before preceding Pansy to the Gryffindor table.

Pansy, who was no less in shock than Harry had been, met his eyes for a moment, and glared when she saw him grinning.


	5. You Intrigue Me, Harry

Harry managed not to have an actual conversation with any of his new housemates during dinner, staring at his plate and repelling any questions with brief 'yes' or 'no' answers until even the most stubborn gave up. Throughout, he avoided even glancing at the boy to his right, nevertheless well aware Riddle had hardly taken his eyes off him. By the time dessert appeared on the tables, his hands were shaking so badly, he dropped his cutlery with a clank, excused himself to no one in particular, and beat a hasty retreat towards the doors.

He was sufficiently on edge that the now familiar sight of Pansy was a comfort; meeting her eyes, he nodded towards the exit, and made his way there hurriedly. When she reached him, she was still looking positively shell-shocked. "Harry, bloody hell, I can't be in Gryffindor!" she moaned. "The very notion is ridiculous. No Parkinson has ever been in Gryffindor."

Harry manage a chuckle despite his nerves. "That's probably because no Parkinson has ever told a Dark Lord where to shove his wand and then _bravely_ gone back in time to try and save the future."

Pansy paled. "Oh Merlin. I'm really a Gryffindor now?"

"Afraid so." Harry grinned.

Pansy covered her face with her hands, and Harry patted her on the head consolingly. It was a sign of her distress that she didn't complain about him ruining her hairdo. "Don’t worry," he said. "You'll look good in red."

She mumbled something under her breath that sounded like 'thanks'.

Harry snickered, but his face fell when she looked at him, grinning now. "So anyway, I'm assuming that absolute doll you were staring at before, not to mention went and had dinner with, is my future beloved?"

Something twisted uncomfortably in Harry's stomach. "Yes," he snapped.

Pansy quirked a brow at him. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Harry lied, confused that he was feeling… angry all of a sudden. "So what happens now, with you in Gryffindor?"

"Well, we still have _you_ in Slytherin. I guess you'll have to befriend him and get us together. Sing my praises and so on. It might actually work out well. It'll be a more subtle approach."

Harry glared at her. "Work out well? Pansy, I'm going to be sleeping with… in Riddle's dormitory. Need I point out that he's a murderer? A psychopath? A… a…"

"Not yet," Pansy interjected calmly. "At least as far as we know."

"I feel so much better now," Harry said cynically. "Thanks."

Pansy smirked. "Remember, he doesn't know you at all. He has no reason to hate you yet. You two have _no_ history." When Harry sighed, she put a hand on his shoulder. "I know it must seem impossible to even think of making friends with him, but Harry… you must keep reminding yourself that he hasn't done anything to you or your family yet. And if we play our cards right, he never will."

Harry knew she was making sense, of course. "Tom Riddle does not hate me. I do not hate Tom Riddle," he murmured. He didn't believe his own words, but he knew well enough that he would eventually have to get his head around them.

"That's the spirit." Pansy looked pleased. She let her eyes drift to the Slytherin table. "He really is stunning, I must say. Don’t you think so?"

Harry didn't like the way she was smirking at him at all. "How would I know?" he mumbled. "I guess so."

"Never mind." Pansy grinned. "So tell me, how on earth did Harry Potter get himself sorted into Slytherin? You didn't actually ask that miserable hat for it, did you?"

"Not bloody likely. What I _should_ have done is to ask it _not_ to put me there, just like I did in… well, the first time."

Her eyes went wide as saucers. "It's tried to put you into Slytherin before?" When he nodded, she giggled. "So many things start to make sense now. Well, obliviousness aside, anyway."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, but never got his answer, because by then, the rest of the students were beginning to filter out of the Great Hall, and McGonagall was approaching them both.

"I'm so sorry you two didn't get sorted into the same house," she said, as if the Sorting Hat's dementia was somehow her responsibility. "That hardly happens with relatives. It's very odd."

Pansy shrugged. "Never mind. I'm sure we'll be fine."

Harry was far less certain of that, but he muttered his agreement anyway.

McGonagall smiled at him. "I'll make sure to look after your cousin, Potter." At this, Pansy's face lit up, which rather surprised Harry; he didn't think her the type to like being 'looked after'.

"Thanks," he said. "And please call me Harry." It was very weird to get this fresh-faced girl muddled up in his head with his wrinkly Transfigurations teacher, and the sooner he could mentally separate the two, the better.

"Then you must call me Minerva." She smiled. "And Harry, just because you're in another house, don't think you can't come and see Pansy any time you want. If anyone gives you any grief because of this foolish house rivalry, tell me right away." Her smile was very sincere this time, and Harry returned it.

"Really, Minerva. Already playing the mother hen to our new arrivals?"

Harry's heart leapt into his throat, threatening to choke him. They might not have talked during dinner, but he'd recognize that deep, haughty voice anywhere, even if it had been four years since he'd last heard it sounding like _that_. To his complete horror, Minerva McGonagall gave Riddle a bright smile over his shoulder, and he turned to make sure he hadn't misheard after all.

Riddle was standing right behind Harry, looking at Minerva but diverting his gaze to Harry the moment he turned back. Even half a year younger, Riddle was still taller than him, which did nothing to make Harry feel better. Neither did the slight smirk Riddle was sporting.

"Oh, do be quiet, Tom. I'm just being helpful," Minerva chided playfully. "This is Tom Riddle," she introduced. "He's a fifth year as well - brightest student at Hogwarts though, as I'm sure he'd agree." She snickered. "I imagine you two…" She looked from Tom to Harry and back. "Have already introduced yourselves?"

"No, I'm afraid not," Riddle said softly, and Harry shook his head, feeling very awkward now about his nerves getting the better of him. It hadn't even occurred to him how rude he had been.

Minerva frowned. "Oh?"

With a sigh, Riddle held out his hand to Harry. "It's my fault. Sorry, I should have welcomed you properly. Let me do so now."

Harry reluctantly took his hand and forced a smile onto his face. 'He does not hate me, and I do not hate him,' he chanted to himself. "Harry Potter. Nice to meet you," he said cautiously. The last time Voldemort had touched him skin to skin, it had sent agony from his scar through his entire body. Feeling the warm, smooth palm of Riddle's hand against his own, he found it hard to make a connection.

Something of his surprise at the lack of pain must have shown on his face, because Riddle gave him a curious look. "Is anything wrong?"

"No, of course not," Harry said quickly. "Just a bit… tired, I guess."

Tom nodded. "I'll take you down to our dormitory so you can get settled in." He actually sounded helpful.

Minerva cleared her throat. "This is Harry's cousin, Tom. Her name is Pansy."

Tom broke eye contact with Harry and looked at Pansy as if he'd only just noticed her existence. "Hello, Pansy."

"Hello, pleased to meet you." Pansy, not as put out at being ignored as she once might have been, gave him a charming smile and held out her hand. When he didn't take it right away, she cleared her throat and looked down pointedly. "You might have to let go of Harry's hand for a moment," she said cheekily, causing Minerva to giggle.

Colour rose in Tom's cheeks and he dropped Harry's hand as if burnt, quickly reaching for Pansy's. "It seems I'm a little tired myself. You must excuse my manners."

"Quite all right," Pansy said generously, hardly managing not to burst out laughing, especially when she noticed Harry's look of wide-eyed confusion.

Minerva watched all this with a Dumbledore-like twinkle in her eyes. "Well, I'll leave you in Tom's capable hands, if it's all right, Harry?" She didn't wait for an answer before turning to Pansy. "Shall we go up to Gryffindor Tower so you can get settled in as well?"

Pansy nodded. "Yes, please. I wouldn't mind getting out of these clothes; we've had quite a long trip to get here." Harry gave her a look of warning, but she merely winked at him. "Goodnight, Harry."

He opened his mouth, but really, what was there to say: _Help, don't leave me alone with him!_? He settled for a mumbled, "Night, Pansy. Night, Minerva."

"We'll see you boys at breakfast," Minerva said cheerfully, leading Pansy up the main staircase with a hand on her arm.

Harry gulped, watching them go until Riddle cleared his throat next to him. "Coming, Harry?"

* * *

Riddle led the way, with Harry following a few steps behind, pondering that there was a rather Snape-like flourish to the way the Slytherin strode down the corridors. He and Snape were probably of comparable height, but Riddle's hair was most definitely not greasy. Why on earth he should bother to notice that, Harry didn't know, and he decided to give up thinking altogether for the day.

He barely took in the Slytherin common room and the few isolated students assembled there, watching him and Tom with interest as they passed through the room in silence. Harry wouldn't have known what to say to anyone, and it seemed Tom couldn't be bothered.

Once they arrived in the fifth year boys' dormitory, Riddle went and perched on the bed furthest from the door, then indicated the one beside it. "This is yours."

Harry fought down yet another bout of hysteria. He might have guessed that he'd be the one sleeping next to him as well since clearly, there would be no other volunteers. 'He's just a boy, not a monster yet, you idiot,' an inner voice which sounded annoying like Pansy informed him. Another voice entirely his own replied, 'If that's the case, why is everyone keeping well out of his way?' There was no answer, naturally.

After enlarging his suitcase, Harry started unpacking, with Tom watching him from the edge of his own bed. "Is that all you've brought with you?" he eventually asked. When Harry nodded, his eyes narrowed in speculation, but he didn't comment further.

"Are you friends with McGonagall? Minerva, I mean?" Harry eventually asked, both to fill the silence and because the idea still struck him as utterly bizarre.

Tom nodded. "Minerva is unusually intelligent and interesting to talk to. She's the only Gryffindor I can abide." Misinterpreting Harry's glower, he drawled, "Though I suppose I can put up with your cousin."

 _Put up with…_ Harry winced internally. Well, it didn't look like a case of 'Love At First Sight', though he supposed that might not matter in the long run.

"Merely on account of you, of course," Riddle commented, to Harry's confusion.

"Excuse me?" Harry frowned.

"Well, you're clearly a Slytherin right down to the colour of your eyes," said Riddle enigmatically. When Harry gaped at him, he explained. "You're not stupidly polite or trusting, and I don't think you'd grovel to anyone - I despise people who do."

'Tell that to your hordes of grovelling Death Eaters,' Harry thought. Aloud he said, "So you basically think I'm rude."

Riddle snorted elegantly. "No, but prickly. And you've got a mind of your own, though I can't figure out what you're thinking." His lips quirked. "At least not yet. You intrigue me, Harry."

The nape of Harry's neck tingled, and he wasn't too happy about the heat in his cheeks either. "Wonderful," he stammered, tossing bundles of socks into the bedside drawer. Being intriguing to Voldemort had not been his life's ambition. But prickly or not - and he could hardly deny that one - he did know that he would need to make the best of being intriguing to Riddle. And he'd have to start thinking of him as Tom if he wanted to have any hope of telling his memories and the boy before him apart.

"Quite possibly, yes," Tom said, giving Harry an inscrutable look.

Harry returned it in kind, having lost track of the conversation, but when Tom's lips turned up in a slight smile, it seemed only right to return that as well.


	6. Protective Instincts

Sleep was, not surprisingly, the last thing on Harry's mind by the time he was tucked into bed. His bed, in the Slytherin dorm. In 1942. Next to Vol… Tom Riddle. Merlin's beard!

He could almost hear Hermione berating him, and Ron gibbering in shock, at this latest stunt. With all the rule breaking the three of them had got up to during their six years at Hogwarts, this was on an entirely different level. Harry turned on his side, wincing when that put him in the position to see Tom, sleeping in the next bed over.

Yes, this was definitely on a different level, but more important than anything he'd done in his life, or would ever do. As long as he could keep his nerve. And he was determined to do so - he might be a Slytherin now, but that wasn't going to take the Gryffindor out of him.

He looked at Tom's sleeping face with that same sense of unreality that their handshake earlier had caused. What was it that made this boy so different from everyone? Why was he, no doubt already even now, plotting unspeakable evils? And why, Harry wondered, was there no one to stop him?

Tom's sleep changed as he visibly slipped into a dream phase. His eyelids started to twitch, his long lashes brushing the pale skin under his closed eyes. Harry frowned at the soft mewling sounds issuing from Tom's lips; it had never occurred to him that his enemy might dream, just like anyone else. What qualified as a nightmare to someone like Tom Riddle, when his reality in the future would furnish Harry's nightmares? But more importantly, what horrors was he dreaming now, in this time, while still merely a school boy?

Harry pulled his covers up to his chin and watched the other's sleep grow ever more restless. The thin duvet covering Tom was slowly twisting around his long legs, and he was restlessly shifting back and forth between his side and his back, moaning at irregular intervals. But for all that, the gut-wrenching wail to spill from his mouth all of a sudden jolted Harry, making his heart race.

"Shut up, Riddle!" came a growl from across the room, and a heavy-set boy, who had introduced himself during dinner as Wallace McKay, turned over with a noisy creak of bedsprings and went back to sleep.

Harry sighed and reached under his pillow for his wand. He softly cast a silencing charm around Tom's bed, then kept watching him. The next time Tom's lips parted and his brow creased, Harry knew there was a groan of distress, and somehow, not hearing it was worse. He felt awful about having cast the charm, as if he'd locked Riddle into a separate room with his demons while safely staying outside.

'Why should I care that he's having bad dreams?' he wondered, angry at himself because he did. But angry or not, he pushed away his duvet, climbed silently out of bed, wrapped his bathrobe around himself, and approached Tom's bedside.

Standing right next to him and thus inside the area of the silencing charm, he realised the dreams must have mellowed somewhat. Whimpers were spilling from Tom's lips only occasionally now, but he was still restless. Hesitantly, Harry sat down on the edge of the boy's bed, wondering whether an incautious move would find him with Tom's wand trained on his heart. But he held vigil there anyway, sharing in Tom's distress, if only by listening, until the boy was once more sleeping calmly. Only then did he return to his own bed.

It was a long time before he fell asleep. But once he did, there were no nightmares at all.

* * *

"Harry."

Mumbling and burying himself deeper in his bedding, Harry turned away from the voice and the faint room light.

"Harry?" His mattress dipped a little, and a hand gently cupped his shoulder. "Time to get up."

"Go away." Having slept better than he remembered in a long time, Harry was in no hurry to wake up, but it wasn't meant to be.

"Get up, Potter!" a far harsher, less patient voice barked at him, and he jolted awake.

"I… what?" he muttered, slowly pushing himself up on his elbows.

McKay and a weedy-looking blond boy - Frank something-or-other, Harry thought - were glaring at him from across the room. "Don't lose us house points on your first day, Potter."

Harry sneered at them and was about to climb out of bed, when his eyes widened. Tom Riddle was sitting on the edge of his mattress, and it looked as if he was glaring at the two boys. Harry reached for his glasses.

"I don't see the two of you rushing off to breakfast," Tom said icily. "For that matter, I don't recall either of you ever doing our house points any good." His voice was low and quiet - deceptively so, because there was a storm in his dark eyes.

Frank Simmons, who made Malfoy look friendly by comparison, sneered, but there was a trace of fear in his beady eyes. "Don't worry, Riddle. We're off." With a snort and a look at Harry, he added, "Wouldn't want to intrude."

Harry frowned at this statement, and watched him and McKay lumber out of the room, leaving only Tom and himself there. "What did he--" he started, but Tom interrupted.

"Have a good sleep?"

Harry watched as Tom rose and walked across to his bed to pick up his wand. "I… yeah, I did." And as an afterthought, he added, "Oddly enough."

Tom turned back to him. "Do you have trouble sleeping?" He looked almost eager, as if hoping he wasn't alone with his affliction.

Harry averted his eyes and admitted, "I tend to have nightmares. A lot."

"So do I," Tom said softly.

They looked at each other for a long moment, neither willing to elaborate, until Harry cleared his throat. "I should really get up. Apparently, I'm running late."

Tom nodded. "We are," he agreed. "Might be a good time for a spell."

"A spell?" Harry asked, climbing out of bed. When he turned, Tom was still sitting on his own bed, his wand raised and aimed at Harry's chest.

All the blood stopped in Harry's veins, and he stared in wide-eyed horror at the other boy. There was no time to reach for his wand before Tom's lips started moving. Resigned to his fate, Harry closed his eyes, awaiting the inevitable.

When he heard the word 'scourgify' within the softly spoken incantation, his eyes flew open. The sensation of a dozen warm washcloths being run over his entire body at high speed, and his pyjamas growing first soaking wet and then dry and fresh within less than ten seconds, caused him to yelp in surprise and fall back onto the edge of his bed.

Tom snickered softly at Harry's look of utter shock, then pocketed his wand calmly. "What did you think I was going to do, Harry - Avada Kedavra you?"

Shivering both from Tom's words and the pleasurable tingling all over his body after the impromptu magical sponge bath, Harry wrapped his arms around himself. "Of course not," he lied, sounding a little breathless.

Tom looked at him with a strange intensity in his eyes, that slight frown between his brows and his lips parted as if he was about to say something, but then he rose and picked up his book bag. "Better get dressed, Harry. I'll wait for you."

"I'll only be a minute," Harry croaked, reaching for his school clothes at the top of his trunk. He clutched them close. "Thanks. For the… um, bath." He all but ran into the washroom to get changed.

* * *

The trip from the dorm up to the Great Hall was something of a revelation to Harry. It had been clear enough that most Slytherins - aside from the singularly unpleasant, angular John Avery who'd introduced himself as Tom's 'friend' in the dorm the previous night - kept their distance from Riddle, but there were differences in how they did so.

The boys watched him with expressions varying between loathing, envy and fear, while virtually every group of girls they passed blushed and giggled and whispered who knew what about him, with only few of them brave enough to actually speak to him.

To those who did, he replied with a cool but polite enough greeting without making eye contact. He nearly caused a group of three dark-haired witches lingering near the Potions classroom to faint when he returned their "Good morning", and a sweet-faced, pouty seventh year managed to get a "Hello, Mandy," which lit up her entire face.

None of them could have accused him of not being a gentleman, but to Harry's amusement, followed by misgivings, Tom sighed and whispered quietly enough so only Harry could hear, "Girls are such a nuisance."

If Harry and Tom were fashionably late for breakfast, they were not the only ones. Just as they reached the doors to the Great Hall, Minerva and Pansy came rushing down the stairs, out of breath.

"Morning!" Pansy called out cheerfully, while Minerva smiled at the boys. "Well, aren't you handsome in Slytherin green," she said to Harry.

"Thanks." Harry blushed, which amused the other three greatly. He hadn't given any thought to his new school robes, aside from noticing that they were far better fitted and comfortable than the more modern version; having found everything laid out atop his luggage, he assumed the house elves must have arranged it overnight.

He took in the singularly bizarre sight of Pansy Parkinson in Gryffindor robes. "Told you you'd look good in red," he said to her, grinning.

Minerva laughed softly, "I agree."

"You really think so?" Pansy smirked. Considering how she was preening in front of them, she was well aware of it.

Harry quickly looked sideways at Tom, but if the boy was in any way overwhelmed by Pansy's appearance, he certainly didn't show it. He did, however, wish the two girls a polite 'Good morning', before adding to Minerva, "Can you believe McKay and Simmons were being utter pests towards Harry already?" He huffed. "They'll need to be taught a lesson one day."

Harry gaped in surprise. He'd all but forgotten the two Slytherins, having been barely awake at the time. "I really don't--" he started, when a singularly odd sight derailed him.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Pansy asked, looking back over her shoulder. She gasped when she saw who Harry had spotted.

Minerva and Tom watched in confusion while Harry and Pansy got used to the sight of a not even remotely transparent, but nevertheless pasty, Myrtle, shuffling towards them with her head hanging. "Excuse me," she muttered snippily, about to push past them, when she raised her eyes and looked at Harry. "Oh," she squawked, then broke into a silly grin and batted her eyelashes behind her thick glasses. "Hi."

Harry swallowed. "Uh, hi?" For a moment, he panicked that Myrtle had recognised him, but then realised how ludicrous that was. And considering she was all but drooling on his robes, he could only conclude that her display meant she fancied him while alive as well. That thought was almost enough to put him off his breakfast. "Excuse me," he stammered, told Pansy and Minerva he'd see them later, and then rushed into the Great Hall, with Tom following him.

"Surely, you don't know her?" Tom asked, catching up to him.

"No," Harry said, looking back to see Myrtle still staring after them. He shuddered. "Just didn't like the way she was ogling me."

Tom nodded slowly, murmuring under his breath, "Neither did I."

Harry blinked at him, but assumed he had heard wrong. And if not, Tom was probably merely commiserating with him, considering his own less than subtle admirers.


	7. Care of Magical Creatures

Harry was grateful that his first day started nice and easy, with Care of Magical Creatures. Their teacher was Professor Pennycook - a short, jolly Scottish witch who reminded him more of Madame Sprout than Hagrid, and he hoped that her comparative size would mean she'd not have them dealing with the terrors Hagrid was inclined to favour; he wondered when he'd be running into the half-giant. It took some getting used to these familiar, and yet entirely new, faces. Looking at Tom, who had not left his side all morning, he found himself surprised that he took comfort in his constant presence, then promptly chastised himself for thinking that way.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Tom asked when he noticed Harry's scowl. "I'm not crazy about this class myself. It's not exactly challenging or dignified, playing with flobberworms and bowing to great four-legged things."

Harry's scowl dissolved into a smile despite himself. "Can't be so bad. Don't you like animals?"

Tom tilted his head at him. "Not the ones that seem to do nothing but eat, sleep and then die. I don't like useless, predictable things." He assessed Harry carefully, as if weighing up how his next words would affect him. "But I'm very fond of snakes."

"Oh, me too!" Harry exclaimed before he could rein in his enthusiasm. When Tom's face lit up at that admission, Harry averted his eyes uncomfortably. He was finding it very hard to get used to the other boy showing normal emotional reactions like being surprised, or pleased, or protective. He'd spent years telling himself that Riddle and Voldemort were one and the same - and they were, of course - but had never given any thought to a gradual progression from one to the other. It was so much more disconcerting to deal with 'Tom' - a boy who not only appeared not to hate him, but who even seemed fond of him. It was ludicrous and frightening, and he was entirely unprepared to deal with it. He resolved to talk to Pansy at the earliest opportunity; never mind that she'd delight in mocking him. He knew well enough that she had a lot more common sense than he did.

"Harry," Tom was calling out to him. "Are you coming?"

"What? Where?" Harry was surprised to see the class walking towards the Forbidden Forest, with only Tom lagging behind, waiting for him to catch up. He shook himself out of his thoughts and hurried after him. "What's going on?"

"You're rather distracted, aren't you?" Tom observed. "Apparently, we're going to see unicorns, though why, I can't imagine." He sighed. "We did this in first year."

Harry tried not to smile at Tom's tone. "What's wrong with unicorns?"

Tom shrugged. "Nothing as such. But they're quite independent creatures and too shy to really go near. I imagine we'll be expected to stare at them and gasp in awe and look like happy little children."

"You're awfully cynical, aren't you?"

Tom was about to reply when one of their female classmates exclaimed up ahead, "Oh! There, look. Aren't they adorable?" Tom rolled his eyes, which had Harry chuckling.

"Come on, don't be such a thunder cloud," Harry said, pulling Tom along by his sleeve. He felt resistance and wondered whether he'd gone too far, but Tom followed him after all. As soon as they were in sight of the small group of unicorns gathered on the edge of the forest, their presence so close to safety no doubt pre-arranged by their professor, he set down his book bag and watched them.

Tom walked up next to him. "We'll get nowhere near them. What's the point?"

Harry moved forward a few steps, and one of the animals looked back at him. While their professor was telling them all about unicorns - throwing in a few facts that had been left out in first year, and for good reason - Harry reached out a hand, and one of them walked up close to him, nudging his fingertips lightly. He murmured a few soothing words to it, surprised when it suddenly grew nervous and began to fidget. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw Tom standing behind him with a surprised expression on his face.

"They let you touch them?" he asked.

"Apparently," Harry said, then did something he could not have explained if his life depended on it. He reached for Tom's wrist and pulled him closer, holding their joined hands out towards the unicorn. He wondered why Tom's pulse was racing.

The unicorn came a cautious step closer, sniffing and bowing its head, and Harry calmed it with soft words, unaware the rest of the class were watching them with gaping mouths and wide eyes. When the unicorn pushed its pale, moist snout into the palm of Tom's hand, Harry smiled and took a careful sideways glance at Tom. The only reason he managed not to burst out laughing at the boy's expression was that he didn't want to shatter the moment. It would be an exaggeration to say Tom looked as though he was about to 'gasp in awe and look like a happy little child', but he _did_ look almost comically amazed.

"Very good, Mr Potter!" Professor Pennycook exclaimed, causing the unicorn to suddenly step back, bow a little and rejoin the herd. "You certainly have a way with complicated beasties." She applauded him playfully, and he blushed, dropping Tom's hand. The rest of the class was evenly split between snickers and giggles.

When Harry looked up again, Tom was staring at him, his cheeks flushed. "Sorry," he stammered. "I should have asked if you even wanted to touch it."

Tom shook his head. "No, it's… I don't mind. I didn't think it would let me."

Some of the other students attempted to get close enough to the unicorns to touch them, but without success. Eventually, Professor Pennycook got back to lecturing them on the special properties of unicorn hair, then moved on to unicorn blood and the terrible consequences of killing a unicorn, and to Harry's dismay, Tom's ears seemed to perk up as he listened attentively.

Harry sighed and leaned back against a tree, feeling suddenly despondent. He wanted to scream at Tom not to listen, not to take in the information and retain it, but he didn't know what to do. He just looked at Tom's back sadly, until the other boy turned to meet his eyes, frowning when he took in Harry's defeated stance.

Tom was clearly torn between the subject - he'd always been eager to learn and found everything unusual fascinating - and the fact that Harry seemed suddenly upset. After looking back and forth between the class and Harry, he sighed and approached the other boy with a hesitant smile.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise when Tom leaned against the wide tree trunk next to him. "So, Harry… I'm intrigued. Why do you like snakes?" It took him a minute or two to come up with a 'safe' version of his first encounter with a snake at the zoo, but once he started talking, all of Tom's attention was on him.

* * *

The rest of the morning passed uneventfully, though Harry had to agree with Pansy's assessment that classes in the 1940s were most definitely more demanding than their own. He was very glad they'd decided to repeat the year. Even so, he was still in a good mood when he saw Pansy at lunch and asked her to meet him in the library to talk as soon as possible.

"You and Tom?" she asked, grinning.

Harry shook his head. "Tom seems to be taking every class there is. Including Muggle Studies, believe it or not."

"Know thy enemy," Pansy guessed.

Harry shivered, but nodded his agreement. "I have a free period right now."

"So do I." She was about to say something else when Minerva appeared on the stairs. "Hello!" she called out, waving.

Minerva seemed equally pleased to see her, though rather rushed and busy. "Hello, Pansy. Hi, Harry. Ah cannae tell ye how I envy ye, not having to worry about NEWTs yet."

They both laughed at her, and Pansy whispered near Harry's ear, "Isn't it cute how she goes all Scottish when she's stressed?"

"Cute?" he squawked, staring at Pansy, who was positively glowing.

"Had lunch yet?" Minerva asked, tucking a strand of dark hair which had come loose back behind her ear.

Pansy watched her with a smile. "I'm afraid so. Harry was just asking me to help him out with his pet project in the library."

"Hey, wait! Pet... what?" Harry protested, but the girls were giggling at him. "It's not my project. It's…" He frantically tried to come up with something relating to his morning classes. "For Care of Magical Creatures. For an essay," he stammered. "It's not like I asked for it."

Minerva's eyes were sparkling in amusement, and Pansy nudged him playfully. "Of course not. Come on then, time to go research."

He growled at her but let himself be dragged along. On the way, he told her off. "You're making me look like a right nitwit, needing help on my first day."

Pansy grinned. "I'm sure Minerva knew exactly what I meant."

"Well, that's good. Because I haven't a clue."

"Yes, it's astonishing," Pansy agreed cheerfully. "And a little frightening. You're in Slytherin now, Harry, you simply cannot be allowed to be this innocent."

"Stop talking in riddles!" he hissed, which sent her into another fit of giggles. "And why are you so bloody cheerful anyway?"

Pansy didn't answer, simply continuing to smile until they arrived at the library. While Harry found an empty table at the back - not difficult, considering most students were in classes at the time - she made a side trip to the Care of Magical Creatures section and joined him a couple of minutes later with two books.

"What are they for?" Harry asked.

"Cover. In case someone wonders why we're sitting here, studying with no books."

She dropped them in front of him, and Harry picked them up - _The Taming of the Skrewt_ and _How to look after your Snake_. He looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

Pansy shrugged. "They happened to be the first ones I picked up." She took off her cloak and hung it over the back of the chair, then settled in across from Harry, plucking a bit of lint from her Gryffindor tie. "So, what's the problem?"

"What's the problem?" he asked in complete disbelief, right before releasing all the pent-up frustration he was feeling. "Let's see. I'm spending all my time with Lord Voldemort, trying to figure out whether to strangle him or wake him up from his nightmares. Meanwhile, he's being really bloody _nice_ to me, which is freaking me out. And I'm quite sure he's done something to me, because I'm finding it harder and harder to hate him. And… oh yes, _you_ , who should be flirting with him as if our lives depended on it - which they do, if you remember - are giggling with Minerva McGonagall, swapping lipsticks and whatnot..."

"How did you know about that?" Pansy interrupted, blinking.

Harry stared at her, then shook his head. "Lucky guess. Anyway, I'm not finished."

"Okay, go on." Pansy sat back, folding her arms across her chest and smiling at him.

Harry took a deep breath. "I… well, that's it, I guess. Anyway, I think it's fair to say that things are _not_ going well. Wouldn't you agree?"

"No."

"What do you mean, 'no'?"

Steepling her hands, Pansy looked at him for a long moment until he began to feel uncomfortable. Finally, she asked, "You want me to flirt with Tom?"

Harry felt his right eye twitch a little, and his tongue didn't immediately work. "Yes, obviously," he finally managed. And because it didn't sound convincing even to him, he quickly added, "Don't you fancy him?"

Pansy grinned. "Harry, I'm pretty sure every student, teacher, ghost and painting in the castle fancy Riddle. I've even seen that bow-legged witch statue in front of the Great Hall giving him the glad-eye."

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "What's the problem then?" He hesitated, not knowing how Pansy's vanity would stand up to a suggestion like this. "You don't think he fancies you, do you?"

"Harry, do you get the impression that Tom likes girls at all?" She felt as if she was walking on egg shells.

"Well, he said they were a nuisance," Harry blurted out. "But I'm sure if you were to--"

"What about you?" Pansy asked, grinning.

Harry was confused. "Does he think I'm a nuisance?"

Pansy groaned. "I think we can definitely say that he doesn't think you're a nuisance. Oh Harry." She chuckled. "I can't believe this needs saying out loud, but--" Suddenly, her face became calculating. "You know what? This'll be far better for you to figure out by yourself. But I'm going to help you. Let's set up a study session with the two of us, Tom and Minerva. I'll talk to Minerva and will get her to suggest the Room of Requirement - can't let her know that _we_ know all about it, of course."

"Minerva is two years ahead of us," Harry pointed out.

"Doesn't matter." Pansy grinned. "She'll want to be there."

With a sigh, Harry slouched in his chair. "Why do I get the feeling I'm being set up for something?"

"Because you are, dear cousin." Pansy stood up, ready to leave. "But it'll be very educational."

Harry blinked at her. "Hey, wait! We're not finished yet. How am I supposed to… well, act around Tom?" he asked.

"Why don't we work that out after we've all got together." Pansy smiled at him, turning to leave. With a glance back over her shoulder and a nod at the two books on the table, she suggested, "Might as well have a look through those, eh? See you later, Harry."

"Yeah, thanks," Harry said sarcastically.


	8. Speaking in Tongues

It took a week before Pansy finally took Harry aside and told him to meet her and Minerva at the Room of Requirement that afternoon, and to bring Tom along, of course.

"What am I supposed to tell him?" Harry asked snippily. He was on edge and tired. His sleeping pattern had been rather chaotic - any night he didn't sit on Tom's bed with a silencing charm around them both while the other boy endured his nightmares, his own sleep was… well, confusing. He frequently woke up feeling hot and feverish, but with only vague memories of what he'd dreamed. He only knew that his nightmares appeared to be a thing of the past. Or rather, the future.

Pansy shrugged. "Just say you're meeting us for afternoon tea."

"What took you so long, by the way?" Harry was feeling sulky. "I'm a little bit at sea here, if you haven't noticed."

"Oh, I've noticed." Pansy smiled. "But I wanted to get something for you, and it took me this long to arrange it. You'll like it."

"You bought me a present?" Harry blinked.

"Not exactly." Pansy shouldered her book bag. "Word got around about what must have been a fascinating _Care of Magical Creatures_ class," she said, smirking. "And it gave me ideas. Anyway, must be off to class! But I'll see you later, okay?"

Before Harry could ask further questions, she'd disappeared down the corridor. He sighed and went to find Tom, feeling more than slightly worried about Pansy's statement. Word got around? What did that mean?

* * *

Minerva and Pansy were leaning against the wall outside the Room of Requirement when Harry and Tom arrived. They both looked far too pleased with themselves, and it didn't help one bit that Harry knew, after Pansy's ominous announcement a week earlier, that he was being set up for something. He was suddenly a lot less eager to get the whole thing over with.

"Come in, you two. We've sorted out the room," Minerva said. "The house elves are going to bring up tea and cakes any minute now." She went inside, followed closely by Pansy.

Harry noticed that Tom had paused outside the room with his eyes closed, taking a deep breath. "What are you doing?" he asked.

Another calming breath later, Tom smiled a little crookedly. "Just clearing my mind. This room has the annoying habit of picking out random stray thoughts and materialising all manner of objects to accommodate them." He blushed, not quite looking at Harry. "That sort of thing can be embarrassing."

"Oh," Harry said. "I see." He wondered what kinds of stray thoughts Tom might be so worried about, but it wasn't as if he should care.

Inside the room, Minerva was laughing out loud, and once they entered, they realised why.

Pansy had plopped herself down on one of only two small, but ridiculously puffy, purple sofas, and her small frame was nearly being swallowed up by it. What was more - the seat was so tiny, there didn't seem room for more than one person.

"Why are there only two armchairs?" Harry asked, chuckling.

"These aren't armchairs," Minerva explained. "They're love seats." She pretended to ignore Harry's blush. "Made for two people, and extremely comfortable, as you can see." She grinned, watching Pansy sprawled back lazily.

Pansy suddenly focussed on Tom. "Come sit with me, Tom. Plenty of room." She patted the tiny space next to her and peered up at him invitingly from under her lashes.

Harry stared at her, wide-eyed. He felt heat rising up his neck and swallowed. When he glanced at Tom, he saw the other boy looking quite uncomfortable himself.

"Um, thank you, Pansy," Tom said hesitantly as he approached her.

Her eyes sparkled at him as she gathered her grey wool skirt close and stretched back, supposedly to allow more room for him, but clearly, to show off the extremely flattering way the red wool hugged her breasts.

Harry was furious. What was she doing, throwing herself at Tom this way? He blinked rapidly. Worse - what was he doing, being angry about it? He certainly didn't fancy her, and this was why they were here, after all. He willed his balled fists to uncurl at his sides.

Minerva watched him with a smile, then turned away to deal with the house elves who had just arrived.

Tom, meanwhile, was perched on the very edge of the sofa next to Pansy, keeping his eyes averted from her and trying to preserve the hair's width of space between them.

Harry only realised he was grinding his teeth when they started hurting. Feeling unreasonably pissed off, he forced himself towards the other seat and sat down, only to find Pansy watching him with a triumphant smirk.

Suddenly, and it was very clearly carefully timed, she exclaimed, "Oh! I almost forgot!" and reached down to withdraw a small, oblong box from her bag. "Just a little something I got for you, Harry. I know how fond you are of them." She was about to climb out of the pile of purple cushions encasing her, when Tom quickly took the box out of her hand.

"Don't get up, Pansy, please! I'll give it to Harry," he offered gallantly, all but fleeing across the room to pass the box to the other boy. Without comment, he sank down into the love seat next to him with a barely suppressed sigh of relief.

Harry's anger was, bizarrely enough, abating very quickly, only to be replaced by acute awareness of just how close they were forced to sit. He cursed Pansy's scheming ways when he felt Tom's thigh pressed hard against his own. Merlin, they were close enough for him to smell the herbal soap Tom liked to use! Attempting to shift further away merely resulted in him bumping against Tom's hip. "Sorry," he muttered. "Stupid seats."

"Don't worry." Tom said. "Just make yourself comfortable."

Harry glared at Pansy, who looked oddly smug, considering Tom had just fled her company rather unsubtly. He lifted the box, noticing tiny holes all across the outside of it. "Is there something living in here?" he called out.

"Open it, you dolt!" Pansy suggested cheerfully.

Minerva had poured them cups of tea and set down two of them in front of Tom and Harry, along with a plate of cakes, then went to hand a cup to Pansy before sitting down beside her. She bumped into Pansy's side, nearly upsetting her tea, but they smiled at each other. "Nice seats," she said softly.

"Hm." Pansy sipped her tea, looking at Minerva over the rim of the cup. When Harry yelped, she clinked the cup against her teeth and hissed, but turned to look at him. The expression on his face was priceless, and Tom looked no less impressed.

"What is this?" Harry called out, extracting the tiny snake from the box. "And don't tell me it's a snake, because this is no ordinary snake - and I'm not a dolt, by the way."

Pansy rolled her eyes at Minerva, who giggled. "Could have fooled me."

Tom watched Harry's delight as he inspected the pale golden creature - it had an ethereal shimmer to it, marking it as a magical species. "It's a moon adder," he said softly.

Minerva laughed. "That's our Tom - knows everything about everything."

He smiled across at her. "I've wanted to see one for years," he said. "As you well know, Minerva."

"I know you're obsessed with snakes, aye." She set her mug down on a little side table. "Looks like you're not the only one anymore." She nodded at Harry, who was gazing adoringly at the tiny snake which hissed up at him, undulating in the palm of his hand.

"Thanks," Harry breathed. He looked at Pansy. "Honestly, thanks. He's beautiful."

Pansy shrugged as if procuring a very rare magical snake was not a big deal at all. Then she realised what Harry had said and raised an eyebrow. "How do you know it's a 'he'?"

"He just--" Harry started.

"Said so," Tom finished. He stared at Harry, eyes wide and mouth open. "Oh Merlin," he gasped. "Harry. You're… But you can't be!"

"A Parselmouth?" Harry suggested, and Tom nodded, his eyes alight with excitement. "I am. Don't know why," Harry lied. "But I've always been able to speak to snakes." He blushed and looked down at the adder. "You underssstand me perfectly, don't you? Why don't you tell him?"

The snake, raised up and swaying slightly, turned back to Tom and hissed up at him, "My massster ssspeaksss my language. Do you?"

Tom blinked. "Yesss, I do. I'm very pleasssed to meet you. Your ssspeciesss isss very rare."

"Thanksss." The snake dipped its head in greeting.

Minerva's cup was shaking in her hands, and Pansy was suddenly very glad that she'd warned her about Harry being a Parselmouth. When Minerva turned to look at her though, she realised that it wasn't fear that had her shaking. "Merlin!" Minerva gasped, looking breathless. "I haven't heard Tom speaking Parseltongue in years. Back then, it just sounded, well, interesting. Mind you, we were only wee ones."

Pansy giggled. "I haven't heard Harry speak it since we were twelve. That was during a… game, with a… a friend. He hasn't done it in public since; people get scared." She looked at Harry and Tom, her eyes widening.

They were hissing down at the tiny snake, which was hissing back happily, its small head swivelling back and forth to look up at one, then the other, by turns. It looked like a lively conversation, and it sounded… well…

"It sounds like one ongoing hiss, like they don't even have to breathe doing it. Makes you think all sorts of dirty thoughts, doesn't it?" Minerva all but gibbered.

Pansy snorted into her tea, but tried to keep her spluttering down to a minimum, not wanting to disturb the scene across the room. "I wonder if they have any idea how hot that is?" she whispered, pressing closer to Minerva, ostensibly so she wouldn't have to speak up.

"Ah cannae imagine they'd do it in front of us if they knew," Minerva whispered back, her cheek nearly touching Pansy's hair. "Oh, Pansy, look!" she gasped. "Harry's putting it in Tom's hand now."

Pansy nearly suffocated on her suppressed giggles, saved only by the fact that she was utterly charmed by the way the tiny snake wound itself around Tom's index finger while hissing up at a smiling Harry. She pulled the collar of her wool jumper away a little, fanning it in an attempt to cool her neck. "I don't know about you, Minerva," she murmured. "But I could really use some privacy right now."

Minerva agreed huskily. "Aye, so could I."

In an instant, a thick red curtain appeared in front of them, completely splitting the room in two. They stared at each other.

"Um… Pansy? Minerva?" Harry called out from the other side of it. "Why is there a great big curtain in here all of a sudden?"

Minerva dissolved into giggles, and Pansy joined in, holding on to the other girl to prevent herself from falling off the love seat. "Don't mind us, Harry," she called out. "We were just..." Gasping for breath, she tried to think quickly. "We were talking about…"

"Interior design," Minerva threw in. "The room must have got the wrong idea. We'll sort it out from over here. Never you mind."

"Yes," Pansy agreed. "Just keep doing what you were doing. We'll be fine."

"Huh." That was Harry.

"I'm sure they're okay, Harry," Tom was saying. And a bit more loudly. "Must have been one of those random thoughts one has to be careful with in here."

Pansy covered her mouth with her hand, and Minerva snorted softly with laughter. "Well, I'm glad one of them's not an innocent," she said. "Not that I think Tom's ever… you know." She grinned. "But I imagine he's making plans. Never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at Harry."

Pansy sighed and said, with mock regret, "I don't suppose those plans will allow for an audience."

Minerva blinked at her, her blue eyes dark and glittering. "You're a might kinky. I like that in a girl."

Pansy blushed. "Do you now?"

Nodding, Minerva took her tea cup and set it aside next to her own, then raised her hand and trailed long, slim fingers over Pansy's pink cheek. "You know, I'm glad Tom's not in favour of girls," she said softly. "Or there'd have been two green-eyed monsters in here earlier." When Pansy smirked, Minerva leaned in, her hand sliding into smooth black hair and cupping the back of Pansy's head. She brushed her lips lightly over Pansy's, and when they parted and Pansy's arms moved up around her back, she set about kissing the smirk right off the younger girl's mouth.

On the other side of the curtain, Tom was watching the tiny adder slide across his palm and down his forearm to wind around it, while chattily informing him that if his master wouldn't mind, he'd like to consider Tom his master also. He looked at Harry with a soft smile. "It's up to you," he said.

Harry smiled back. "Fine with me." He hissed his agreement to the snake also, and it leaned back over Tom's arm to flick its tongue across the tip of Harry's thumb. He laughed. "That ticklesss," he complained.

"Sssorry." It slithered back into Harry's palm, its tail still wrapped around Tom's thumb, pulling it along to brush the edge of Harry's hand, then dragging it into the centre of his palm, where Tom let it rest lightly even after the snake had unwound its tail.

Harry shivered, biting his lip.

"Massster isss excited," the snake helpfully noted, flicking its tongue across Harry's wrist now.

Tom raised a brow. "Isss he really?" he managed to hiss with great difficulty, then let his eyes slide over Harry's flushed face.

"What? No, I'm not!" Harry protested and looked up at Tom, then promptly wished he hadn't. Tom looked flushed, and for the first time, and probably thanks to the ridiculous love seat, Harry was close enough to him to actually notice that his eyes weren't black but grey. A very dark grey. They were beautiful, and they were looking at him ravenously. His mouth went bone dry, and his heart was pounding. "Oh," he squeaked. The sound hung between them until Harry's inner voice kindly provided a much louder, far more outraged, echo of it. _OH!_ He gave the thick curtain in the middle of the room a quick sideways glance and, seeing it still in place, dared to meet Tom's eyes again.

"Both massstersss are excited," the snake informed them casually, slithering through the gap between their wrists and then up Harry's forearm underneath his black jumper. From there, it proceeded to wrap itself around his elbow like a piece of novelty jewellery.

This essentially left Tom holding Harry's hand without pretence. He pressed his thumb a little into the soft, fleshy centre of Harry's palm, biting his lip when Harry's eyelids flickered ever so slightly and his breathing sped up. "Harry," he whispered.

There was no mistaking the way Tom was looking at him; he was supposed to be looking at Pansy like that. And Harry realised how utterly blind he'd been. No wonder Pansy had been making fun of him! He tried to tug his hand from Tom's grasp, but long fingers closed around his palm, and that insistent thumb pushing into his flesh made him shiver again.

"Don't be scared of me," Tom implored.

"I'm not!" Harry protested. "But I'm… I don't…"

"Like boys?" Tom suggested, sounding very doubtful. "Or like me?"

"Yes. I mean, no." Harry was stammering, wishing he'd seen this coming and knowing that he should have. "I can't... Merlin, absolutely not!" He tugged again, and this time, Tom released his hand, and he cradled it against his chest as if it was injured. He was shaking all over - with anger at Pansy for keeping him in the dark, at himself for being more aroused than horrified, and at Tom for… for…

Tom ran his hand through his hair nervously. "I'm sorry, Harry. I'm not going to pressure you. I know this is a bit of a shock for you."

Harry swallowed. "Okay." Then he ran Tom's words through his head again, realising there had been no mention of forgetting the whole thing or anything like it. He frowned. "Wait a minute, what do you mean?"

Tom smiled at him, a little sadly, but his voice was firm with determination when he said, "I'm not going to give up, you know." He leaned forward, causing Harry to press himself backwards into the sofa with a startled yelp.

Unbeknownst to them both, the curtain vanished and Pansy and Minerva, a little dishevelled but concerned, were watching them.

Tom tilted his head and whispered close to Harry's ear. "I affect you as much as you affect me, Harry. We're connected. We need each other - I've felt that right away." He breathed in the scent of Harry's skin, his fear and undeniable excitement, and closed his eyes with a sigh that raised goosebumps on Harry's neck. "And so have you. But if I need to prove it to you, I will." With great effort, he tore himself away, stood up and, without a word to the girls, swept from the room.

Harry was lying back in the love seat, panting. He glared across at Pansy. "I might have to kill you," he croaked. And looking at the door, he added, "Or myself."


	9. All's not Fair in Love and War

"Minnie, you wouldn't mind if I had a talk to Harry alone, would you?" Pansy asked, squeezing Minerva's hand surreptitiously.

Minerva smiled. "Of course not." She stood and walked towards the door of the Room of Requirement, but turned at the last moment and said to Harry, "I've known Tom a long time, Harry. I know he can be difficult, and he doesn't make friends easily, and there might even be some who are scared of him." She ignored Harry's slightly desperate snort of disbelief. "But I know one thing - he's opened up to you like a flower to the sun. I know what you're thinking - if he's a flower, he's a right thorny rose. You're right, but he's quite mad about you, and I've never known him to change the way he feels about people."

With that, she left a smiling Pansy and a gawking Harry behind, softly closing the door behind her.

" _Some_ who are scared of him?" were Harry's first words to Pansy. And following right after, "I can't believe what you got me into!"

She sighed. "Be fair, Harry. How was I to know Tom Riddle fancied boys?"

He looked at her suspiciously. "Are you sure you didn't know? Because I'm wondering now if that's why I'm here."

She gaped at him. "Oh, for--" She rose and crossed the room, looking annoyed. But by the time she stood in front of him, fully realising how worried and betrayed he looked, she sighed and knelt down. "I asked you to come with me because you have a connection with him that's unique, and I thought it might come in handy."

Harry laughed humourlessly. "Unique is right."

"Also, you're a powerful wizard." She looked up at him, smirking. "But if I had pondered, somewhere in the back of my mind, that there was the off-chance I might be the wrong gender altogether, then okay, I might have considered you a backup plan."

Harry glared at her. "I knew it!"

She shrugged. "I thought we both went into this willing to do whatever it took?"

"I'm not gay." Harry's eyes drifted to the door and back to Pansy. "And while I'm picking up on things at last - excuse me for pointing out that you might not be all that straight."

Pansy snickered. "Let's just say I'm not gender-prejudiced." She grew serious. "And excuse _me_ for having my doubts about your straightness."

Harry's jaw dropped. "I've never fancied a boy before!"

"Before Tom, you mean," Pansy said softly, smiling when Harry blushed and deciding not to remind him that he had seemed more than awed at Cedric Diggory. "You can keep telling yourself that you don't melt a little bit every time he so much as looks at you, but you're still a Gryffindor at heart, Harry. And I don't think you're going to lie to yourself forever - it smacks of cowardice."

Harry sucked in a breath and his eyes were hard with anger. "Don't you dare call me a coward for not _wanting_ to fancy the man who killed my parents!"

Pansy's hands suddenly covered Harry's on his knees, and she squeezed them. "I'm not. But Harry - I'm going to be completely blunt now. Your parents do not exist yet. Don't look at me like that - they don't! They're not even a twinkle in anyone's eye yet. And you know as well as I do that we're here to prevent them ever getting hurt once they do exist."

Harry opened his mouth to contest Pansy's words, but he couldn't. "That doesn’t mean I don't _remember_ what he did to them. And other people I love."

" _Might_ do, not _did_ ," Pansy corrected. "I know you can't stop remembering these things, but you have to stop thinking of them as having happened already, because they haven't. And you have to stop thinking of them as inevitable." She sighed. "Can you see this Tom - the one who fell for you for all to see the moment he laid eyes on you, the one who looks at you as if you're all his birthdays wrapped up in one package - can you see him killing your parents? Doing anything that would hurt you that much?"

Harry was blushing and spluttering. "He… what? No, he didn't… doesn't… I--"

"Shut up, Harry." Pansy grinned. "He did. And so did half of you. The other half… well, the other half is a stubborn sod, but I can't blame you. I don't have anywhere near the sort of hatred you have every right to have for the man, and it took me a fair bit of soul searching to decide that yes, I could do what we came here to do if I had to." She squeezed his hands again. "As things stand, I don't have that option. But Harry, you can do this too. You know why?"

"I don't have to know - you're about to tell me," Harry grouched.

Pansy laughed. "That's right. Look, I might have less to forgive, but at best, I'd have nothing more than superficial attraction to go on with Tom. Not a great basis for trying to turn history on its head. Whereas you and him - you two have fireworks. Right now, history as you and I know it couldn't stand a better chance if we'd planned all this down to the last eventuality. I could have bent myself out of shape trying to ensnare Tom; I honestly don't think I ever could have done enough to change him. He's as stubborn as you are. He wouldn't change unless it's for someone who brings out enough love in him to suffocate his hatred." She paused for impact. "And I think you're the only one who has any hope of doing that, Harry."

Harry was shaking his head, then retracted his hands from Pansy's and buried his face in them. "Oh shit. Oh no… Fuck!"

Pansy pulled his hands away to meet his eyes. "Tell me something honestly, Harry. Please."

He sighed, but nodded.

"Do you feel anything for him at all - attraction, sympathy, concern, protectiveness… affection. Anything?"

Harry was silent for a long time, struggling with his inner demons, trying to silence the voices that were screaming at him that he was betraying his parents, and Sirius, and Cedric.

"It's 1942, Harry," Pansy prompted. "You just met a gorgeous, intense, complex creature by the name of Tom. The future is as hazy as an antique crystal ball. Do you feel any of these things for him?"

Harry looked at her, bit his lip, and finally nodded. "Yes, I do."

"Which of them?"

He took a deep breath. "To be honest, a bit of everything."

Pansy gasped, then raised herself up to her knees and wrapped her arms around him awkwardly.

Surprised, Harry hugged her back.

"Everything's going to be okay, Harry."

"But I still hate him," he murmured. "He has no idea about that, and I can't even tell him."

She rubbed his back. "I know. I know. And if it gets too much, you can always talk to me. No one's expecting you to simply forget it overnight." Pulling back and looking embarrassed at such an emotional display, she quirked a grin at him. "Just give him a chance. Give all this…" She waved her arms around, indicating, presumably, their very presence in the past, "... a chance. It's worth it, isn't it?"

With a sigh, Harry nodded.

"Try and be his friend to start with. Work your way up from there," Pansy advised sagely.

"Getting worked up in the process is what I'm worried about," Harry admitted with a blush.

She giggled. "He has quite an effect on you, doesn't he? Must be very inconvenient at this stage."

Groaning, Harry admitted, "You've no idea." He bit his lip. "Don't know if you heard what he said before he left, but he told me he'd prove to me how much he affects me."

"Oh my." Pansy grinned. "Lucky you." Harry looked so worried that it made her laugh out loud. "I think he's given you fair warning that you're about to be wooed."

"Flowers and chocolates from Voldemort," Harry said dryly. "Lucky me indeed."

Pansy kept laughing. "Call me suspicious, but I think he'll be more inventive and less chaste than that." Enjoying Harry's wide-eyed expression, she pulled herself to her feet and straightened out her clothes, still grinning. "I suggest you watch your back around him. And… well, your other sides as well." She waved at him playfully and left him to his jumbled thoughts.

* * *

Harry walked around outside for an hour, thinking about everything Pansy had said, and trying hard not to think about what had come before. When the tiny moon adder finally crawled out from under his sleeve and asked where the other master was, he blushed and said they'd be seeing him later. He hoped it would be much later, but he knew he was only delaying the inevitable. Each time he wondered what he'd say to Tom the next time he saw him, he drew a blank.

When it finally happened, he had no time to consciously decide.

Not feeling hungry, Harry had passed on dinner and was walking down towards the dungeons when he was suddenly grabbed by his arms and pushed against the nearest wall to face two hulking boys in Gryffindor robes, sneering at him.

"Well, if it isn't Potter - the newest snake in the dungeons," one of them drawled. He had a red, puffy face and small piggish eyes.

"From what I've heard, he's the newest pouf in the dungeons," said the other one - a great mountain of hideousness who would have made Crabbe and Goyle shudder. He and his companion snorted with laughter.

"From what I've heard," Harry said more calmly than he felt. "He's a fair bit of trouble."

The two hulks laughed, and the pig-eyed one snarled. "I think you mean _in_ trouble, you little freak. Petting unicorns with that creep Riddle…"

"And _I_ think you'd better get your hands off him, if you want to be able to ever hold your wands again. Or anything else, for that matter." Tom's voice resonated down the length of the entire corridor as he strode towards them.

Harry's heart was pounding, and he was positive it wasn't fear of his attackers.

"Oh look, Potter," Pig-eyes said. "Your big bad boyfriend's come to rescue you." Turning to Tom, he said, "Stay out of this, Riddle, if you know what's good for you."

"Famed Gryffindor courage going a bit awry, is it?" Tom drawled calmly, not even pulling his wand. "Or is your illustrious mudblood heritage messing about with what one might laughingly call your brain?"

It was clear that the words Tom was using were too big for the two oafs holding Harry against the wall, because they blinked at him in confusion.

Finally, Tom sighed impatiently. "I believe I've told you to take your hands off Harry. Telling you a third time will hurt."

Sensing the situation was about to spiral out of control, Harry shook himself loose and kneed his nearest attacker in the groin. While he was howling in pain, he stepped out of the way of the fist flying towards his face, only to hear it make an ugly crunching noise as it hit the stone wall.

"You'll pay for that, Potter!" Pig-eyes growled, pushing his friend aside and reaching into his pocket for his wand.

"Expelliarmus!" Tom shouted, his wand in his hand.

The Gryffindor's wand went flying, and before he could decide what to do, Tom was shouting a series of hexes at him which had him instantly levitating, upside down, with his robes dangling down around his fat head. His compatriot ran off, cursing and cradling his injured knuckles.

Harry couldn't help it, he laughed at the sight of the great oaf dangling there like that. But his laughter died in his throat when he saw an elderly wizard appearing at the end of the corridor - it was none other than Albus Dumbledore.

"Expelliarmus!" said the older wizard, and Tom's wand flew from his hand. "Mr Riddle, what in Merlin's name do you think you're doing, attacking a fellow student!" He righted the dangling boy, then watched him pick up his wand and take to his heels.

Harry gaped. "Sir! No, it's not like that at all. Tom was just--"

Dumbledore stopped in front of him. "You're our new student - Harry Potter?"

Harry nodded, noticing Tom glaring at Dumbledore's back.

"This is not a good way to start your time here, Mr Potter," Dumbledore said, and there was no twinkle in his eyes at all. "You'll find we don't take kindly to this sort of behaviour."

Blinking, Harry grappled for words. Tom got in ahead of him. "Professor Dumbledore, sir," he said, sounding deceptively calm while his eyes were dark with anger. "That… boy and his friend were attacking Harry."

Dumbledore looked around for the second boy, and not seeing anyone, stared at Tom disdainfully. "Something for which we have only your word, Mr Riddle."

"And mine!" Harry protested. "Tom was only helping me. He warned them, but they wouldn't leave."

Looking back and forth between them, Dumbledore said coldly, "Even if a student provokes you, Mr Potter, you cannot attack and hex him. And to make sure you remember that, I'm taking 50 points from Slytherin." He turned to Tom. "For each of you. Because you, Mr Riddle, should know that being well versed in hexes and curses does not give you the right to use them freely. I've told you so before."

Harry gaped like a fish. "That's not fair," he protested.

"And detention for you both," Dumbledore added. "The trophy room needs a good clean. Meet me there tomorrow evening after dinner." With that, he swept down the corridor towards the main stairs.

Harry stared after him, shocked. "It's not fair!" he muttered, jolting when Tom appeared at his side.

"It's a waste of energy getting angry about that," Tom said coldly. "Dumbledore's the head of Gryffindor, and you'll find that Gryffindors can do no wrong." He sneered. "Especially if I'm involved somehow. He wouldn't trust me to make him a cup of tea." He looked down at Harry, and his eyes softened. "But I could curse him for the way he's treating _you_."

Harry, who was suddenly very aware of just how close Tom was standing to him, and how… awkward their situation had very recently become, gulped. "Never mind me," he whispered. "I don't care."

"I do." Tom's eyes swept over Harry's burning cheeks. "Are you okay?" he asked very softly. "Those great louts didn't hurt you?"

Harry shook his head, not trusting himself to speak just then. When Tom raised his hands and lightly ran them over Harry's biceps where the two boys had grabbed him, he began to shiver violently.

"Just making sure, don't worry," Tom said, quickly removing his hands. "I rather liked your self-defence method. Not exactly magical, but effective." He smiled slightly.

"Thanks," Harry replied, his voice a little unsteady. "I've been picked on by bullies before."

Tom's eyes hardened. "Well, you never will be again!" He softened his expression with visible effort. "That's a promise." When Harry blinked, looking utterly gobsmacked, he smiled. "Let's go to our dorm, shall we?" And before Harry had a chance to recover, Tom was leading the way.


	10. A Touch of Mystery

The Slytherin common room was nearly empty when Harry and Tom arrived there, except for a handful of second years and two fellow fifth years - one of them John Avery, to Harry's annoyance.

"You look like you're ready to murder someone, Riddle," Avery drawled from the chair closest to the stairs.

Tom stopped. "Three guesses who."

Avery laughed. "It's probably a Gryffindor, or worse - Dumbledore?"

Harry, still horrified by being on the receiving end of Dumbledore's disdain, stared at Avery, then at Tom. What he saw in the boy's eyes sent cold shivers down his back. Tom, realising Harry was watching him, put on a placid expression. "Good guess, Avery. But I don't think we need to get into that."

Avery shrugged, clearly surprised that Tom wasn't willing to verbally tear into the head of Gryffindor house. He glanced at Harry. "So what do _you_ think of the old man, Potter?"

Before Harry could open his mouth, Tom said coldly, "The topic is over and done with, Avery. Leave Harry alone about it."

Avery stared. "Right," he muttered. "Okay."

Tom was halfway up the stairs when Harry caught up with him. "I can speak for myself," he protested.

Tom was quiet until they got inside the dorm, which was thankfully empty. He flung the door shut behind them. "Sorry about that, Harry. I have a bit of a temper if I don't watch myself, and there are few things that make me as furious as that sanctimonious fool Dumbledore. And Avery seems to enjoy it when I get that way. He likes to stir things up."

"Avery is a sick bastard," Harry said before he could stop himself. He immediately regretted his words, because Avery seemed to be Tom's friend, though why, he couldn't imagine. But the expected defence of the other boy, or anger, didn't come.

Instead, Tom smirked. "You're quite right. And he's not much of a wizard either - he likes to look powerful by association."

Harry frowned. "Why are you friends with him?"

"Who says I am?" Tom asked, surprised.

"He does."

Tom snorted. "That just goes to show how deluded he is. I endure him, that's all. I could never be friends with hangers-on like him; I like people who do their own thinking." When Harry looked relieved at this, he smiled. "You have nothing to worry about, Harry," he said smoothly. "No one is going to take your place."

Harry spluttered indignantly.

Tom chuckled. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm ready to get into bed."

Startled, Harry stared at him. " _What?_ "

"I'm off to bed," Tom clarified innocently. "I'm really tired. What did you think I meant?"

"Nothing!" Harry exclaimed. "I… yeah, I think I'll go to bed by… um, my… myself, I mean. Just have to go and brush my teeth."

Tom watched him scurry away, smirking.

* * *

Harry didn't sleep much that night. He'd come back from the bathroom to find that Tom had set up a temporary home for their moon adder in an empty drawer between their beds, and try as he might, he couldn't help but be charmed by his thoughtfulness. They'd conversed with the snake for a little while, then transfigured a few old socks into rocks and small plants for it, before retiring to their respective beds. Harry was hyper-aware of Tom that night - of his breathing, his quieter dreams, and the fact that when he woke up, Tom was already facing him with his eyes open. They shared a shy smile.

After all that, Harry spent the morning in a bit of a daze. He was only half-aware of Tom telling Minerva and Pansy about what had happened the day before, and Minerva getting absolutely livid that students from her own house had behaved that way.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," she said, wringing her hands. "I know those two, and they bully even the younger Gryffindors."

Harry, leaning against the wall outside the Great Hall, shrugged. "I'm okay. Never mind."

"Well, I do mind!" she huffed. "It's not helping this house rivalry business to be seen to favour one's own house," she sniffed. "If I should ever end up as head of house, that's not going to happen."

Tom smirked. "You'll deduct points from Gryffindor left, right and centre, won't you, Minerva?"

"I will. Starting right now," she declared, spotting the culprits shuffling towards the Great Hall just then. "You two - Miller and Burns!" she called out. "Get over here!"

They glared at her, but as she was head girl, they couldn't exactly ignore her.

"How dare you behave the way you did yesterday? You're an embarrassment to your house!"

The two bullies tried to protest, claiming that Dumbledore certainly had no problem with them putting a few creepy Slytherins - with this they glared at Tom and Harry standing off to the side - in their place, and anyway, she hadn't even been there.

But for all Minerva's apparent gentleness, she was fierce when in head girl mode, and in no mood to put up with nonsense. "Well, I'm not Professor Dumbledore," she said primly. "And I don't need to have been there - you just admitted to your actions. 100 points from Gryffindor!"

They protested and argued, proclaiming to have been provoked, but Minerva - knowing Tom, and judging Harry, well enough to know that this was rubbish - wouldn't hear of it. Eventually, seeing they would get no mercy or special treatment, Miller and Burns cut their losses and went off to lunch, sulking.

Harry gaped at Minerva, while Tom smirked triumphantly.

Meanwhile, Pansy was blinking at her, breathing hard. "Oh, good heavens, Minnie! You're so authorative! That was… exciting," she gasped.

Harry made a face, which had Tom chuckling. "Thanks, Minerva," he said. He glanced at Pansy, who was positively panting. "I think we'll leave you girls alone then. Coming, Harry?"

"Yes. Get me away from here," Harry said dryly. "Bloody hell." When he saw Minerva whisper something to Pansy, which had the other girl nodding and following her to the stairs, he called out after them, "Thanks!"

"No problem." Minerva winked.

* * *

When they reported for their detention in the trophy room that evening, Harry and Tom found Dumbledore already waiting for them. If he was aware of Minerva's balancing of the house points, he did not let it on, telling them what they were expected to do - polish every trophy in the room by midnight and ensuring they did not to use magic, or he would know about it.

"Yes, Professor," Tom said with forced calm, while Harry only nodded; it would take some getting used to being on Dumbledore's bad side by default. Or by being Tom's friend which, in itself, took more than a little getting used to.

"Could be worse," Tom stated once Dumbledore had left. "He could have stayed and breathed down our necks for the next four hours. He's done that with me."

"Four hours. Right." Harry's heart was racing. Merlin, he was about to spend four hours alone with Tom! "Better get to work, I guess," he managed.

Tom smirked. "Let's start with the cabinet at the end of the room and work our way backwards, shall we?"

Nodding, Harry grabbed a stool and polishing cloth and settled in. He tried not to notice that Tom placed his own seat close enough to him for their elbows to nearly touch while they were polishing. He tried to concentrate on the task at hand, reading the inscriptions on the trophies and trying to figure out if any of the names rang any bells. He tried _not_ to notice the way Tom's long, slim fingers holding the blue cloth flew over the brass surfaces, sweeping in generous circles over flaring cups and stroking more slowly and intently up the long handles of the taller trophies. He tried not to break into sweat pretending not to watch Tom. And failed.

When a Quidditch cup slipped from Harry's damp fingers, Tom snatched it out of mid-air. Unfortunately, Harry had reached down after it as well, and their heads knocked together painfully.

Harry let out a stream of colourful curses, rubbing at his head.

Tom let the trophy drop to the floor and took Harry's arm to straighten him up on the stool. "Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry!"

Harry, seeing stars, allowed the touch. He was swaying a little. "I'm okay," he mumbled. "Well, I will be, once the bloody room stops dancing."

Tom snickered. "Let me see your head." He smoothly slid off his chair to stand in front of Harry, taking Harry's hand down from where it was rubbing the top of his forehead.

"No! Stop, I'm fine!" Harry exclaimed, suddenly snapping out of his temporary daze. But it was too late.

Tom was staring at his forehead, partly revealed by Harry's rubbing where his hair stood on end. "What is that, Harry? Did I do that?"

Harry shuddered. "N… no," he denied.

Tom leaned down even closer, and Harry held his breath when the other boy's eyes rested on where he knew his scar to be. "It's a curse scar," Tom said, sounding shocked.

"Yes." Harry tried to turn away, but Tom's hands cupped his head. He felt trapped, hoping his mind wasn't muddled enough from the bang it had just received to make him say things he should be keeping quiet. He simply _knew_ Tom would ask how he'd come by the scar.

"Does it hurt?" Tom asked instead.

Blinking up at him, noticing the concern in his eyes, Harry murmured, "Not lately." That was certainly the truth, though Harry had no idea why. That pain had been as absent as his nightmares.

Tom nodded. "I had a feeling you'd be a hard opponent. Someone must have got a tough lesson, trying to curse you."

Harry gulped, trying not to notice the way Tom's palms felt covering his temples and the sides of his head. He could only assume the spreading warmth was turning his mind to jelly when he heard himself blurt, "I got that when my parents were killed." He cursed himself and quickly added, "Don't know what happened exactly, or who did it though; I was only a baby."

Tom's eyes met Harry's, and he looked sad. "I'm sorry."

Harry inhaled sharply, trying to figure out what he'd given away, but then realised Tom was being sympathetic, not apologetic. He wished the other boy would stop cradling his head so gently before any ability to think left him altogether. "Long time ago," he breathed.

"Hm." Tom licked his lips, leaving them shining with moisture, and Harry's eyes were fixed there. He suddenly felt thirsty. "You'll have to tell me about it one day, when you're comfortable," Tom was saying, though his words sounded very far away to Harry.

"Okay." His own voice sounded even further away, and he swallowed around the dryness in his throat. Then he gasped, because Tom was moving his hands, stroking back his hair from his temples and spreading his fingers until his thumb touched the edge of his scar. "What are you doing?" Harry breathed.

Tom's eyes followed the motion of his thumb as it gently traced the scar.

And the scar, which had lain dormant since Harry had arrived in the past, suddenly flared to life. But _not_ by causing him screaming agony. He wheezed for air, trembling, as wave after wave of hot pleasure crawled over his skin well beyond the location of the scar. "Tom," he pleaded. "Stop."

"This doesn't hurt, does it?" Tom sounded awed by the reaction his touch was causing. He stood close enough to Harry to hear his panting breaths, feel them damp against his wrists and forearms - bare where his robes had fallen back from them.

"No," Harry gasped. He stared at Tom, his eyes wide and deep green, flaring with heat. He felt as if every bone in his body was dissolving, and the surface of his skin turning to silk, so intense was the pleasure.

"Your pupils are dilating," Tom reported in a husky voice. "This feels good, doesn't it? Really good. Me, touching your scar?"

Harry couldn't even nod, so he closed and re-opened his eyes in the affirmative.

Tom was looking into Harry's eyes as if he was mesmerised, that small frown between his brows, but his own eyes were bright and his full lips parted.

Harry could feel Tom's warm, sweet breath on his forehead and nose, adding to the sensations already coursing outwards from his scar. "Why do you frown so often?" he whispered.

Without thinking about his answer, Tom murmured, "I think it happens when I'm feeling too much." His thumb swept away from the scar to the space between Harry's brows, but the edge of his index finger took up the task of trailing along the jagged red line.

"Too much?" Harry gasped.

"It hurts to feel too much." Tom was leaning even closer, his eyes unfocussed and his cheeks flushed. "Don't you think so, Harry?"

Harry felt dizzy, aware in the back of his mind that he was sliding off the stool, his upper body leaning towards Tom. "Can't remember what pain feels like right now," he admitted dazedly.

Tom swallowed; Harry watched his Adam's apple move up and down, and for a moment, he wanted to forget everything he knew, just close his eyes and let Tom do whatever he wanted. Or lean in and taste the pale skin of that long neck - anything to share some of the pleasure shuddering through his body.

"I've been hurting constantly since you came here, Harry," Tom was whispering. He tipped Harry's head back further until his mouth was hovering inches above Harry's. "I feel like you're chipping away at me, and I don't seem able to mind." He drew in a shivery breath.

Something about causing pain tore through Harry's pleasure-fogged mind, and he swayed. "Stop," he gasped. When Tom didn't withdraw right away, he yelled, "Stop, Tom!"

Tom's hands were gone in an instant, and he stepped back, panting, while Harry barely managed to keep his balance on the stool. "I'm sorry, Harry. I said too much." Tom closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "Sorry."

Harry was taking harsh, rapid breaths, trying to calm down. "It's okay. Not your fault. That was… very strange."

"Yes." Tom ran a hand through his hair. "Yes, it was. Does that happen when anyone else touches your scar?"

Harry, realising they were veering into dangerous territory, shook his head. "No," he admitted.

"I think I'll research it - it's fascinating," Tom said excitedly.

"No!" Harry exclaimed, blushing when Tom looked at him in surprise. "No, please don't. I…"

"What, Harry?" Tom sat back down on the stool, his knee lightly bumping Harry's, but apart from that, he made no move to touch him again. "Don't you want to know?"

"No, I don't." Wrecking his brain to come up with a way out of this, Harry finally decided to be Slytherin about it. "That scar has always reminded me of painful, unhappy things," he explained. "You being able to touch it and, um… do that to it…" He blushed. "I don't want to know why. I like that it's mysterious. It's special. Please, Tom." He looked up pleadingly. "Let it go?"

Tom sighed. "Oh, Harry." He looked torn.

Harry reached out and placed his hand on Tom's knee, exulted by the gasp his initiation of contact caused. "Do it for me?" he asked softly.

Tom looked regretful and confused, but nodded. "If that's what you want, Harry, then of course." He smiled slightly. "It'll remain our very own mystery." And with a smirk at Harry's hand resting hesitantly on his knee, he murmured, "You minx."

Harry blushed, but smiled as well, retracting his hand. "We'd better finish the trophies, I guess." He was very glad there were substantially less of them than fifty years onwards.

"Yes, we'd better." Tom smiled as well, and they continued working in comfortable silence until Dumbledore released them from their task shortly before midnight.


	11. Transfiguration... Imagination

Harry managed to catch Pansy alone the next day, and they went for a walk by the lake while he told her about the scar incident.

"Let me get this straight," she said. "Voldemort used to cause you pain through that scar when he did something awful?"

Harry nodded. "The worse his actions, the worse the pain."

Pansy looked positively horrified. "Oh Merlin, Harry, that must have been unbearable!" When he just sighed, she added, "I can't imagine - I have no pain tolerance at all, in myself or anyone else. Not Death Eater material, me."

"No, you're definitely not," Harry confirmed, and they shared a smile. "So, what does this mean? I can't even think about what it felt like to have Tom touching my scar last night without blushing." As if to confirm his words, he promptly did just that.

Pansy giggled. "Sorry, but you have to admit, that's quite… well…"

"Never mind that," Harry muttered, thoroughly embarrassed. "What does it mean?"

"The opposite, one would think."

"Opposite of what?" Harry asked.

Pansy stopped in her tracks. "Of course! It would have to, wouldn't it?" Her dark eyes gleamed with excitement. "Oh Harry, he really does care for you very much."

Harry frowned. When she just smiled at him, his jaw dropped. "You're thinking that if Voldemort's hatred of me was what caused the pain…"

Pansy nodded, eagerly grabbing his arm and squeezing. "Then the fact that he can turn you into goo with his touch to it now…?"

"Means that he…" Harry gulped. "Merlin's beard! I'm not ready for that. Absolutely not!" He saw no reason to tell her that his heart was racing with more than nerves.

"Don't panic," Pansy said quickly, still smiling. "You don't have to be yet, Harry. But isn't it wonderful to have proof that Tom really does--"

"Don't say it!" Harry chewed his lip. "Blimey." Then he frowned. "And it's only proof if we're assuming correctly. What if it means that as of right now, something we've done or haven't done has sufficiently changed history for there not to be a Voldemort in the future?" Harry mused.

Pansy's jaw dropped. "Oh." She pondered this for a moment. "No, that's not it. Why isn't your scar gone altogether then?"

Harry sighed. "I have no idea. I really don't know what it means. But this is giving me a bloody headache."

She narrowed her eyes at Harry. "You really managed to talk him into not researching the whole thing?"

"I kind of begged him not to do it, for my sake."

"And he agreed. For your sake." Pansy's smile grew bigger. "You won't want to hear this, but Harry - you two really are an adorable pair, extremely weird circumstances not withstanding." She laughed at the look on his face. "Oh, speaking of adorable! It's Minnie's birthday next Sunday. She's having a little party on the top of the Astronomy Tower after dinner. You'll come, won't you?"

"Of course." Harry smirked. "Couldn't disappoint Minnie." He enjoyed getting a bit of his own back when Pansy blushed. "And _you_ can talk about extremely weird circumstances - you're all over our old Transfigurations teacher, you realise."

Pansy snickered. "Says the boy who's having Voldemort playing with his peculiar erogenous zones!" When Harry spluttered, she turned and ran back towards the castle, cackling all the way, while Harry ran after her, threatening all kinds of retribution and knowing he wouldn't carry out any of his threats; he suspected Minerva would have his hide, if he displaced a single hair on Pansy's head.

* * *

When Harry talked to Tom later on about getting a birthday present for Minerva, the other boy smiled. "I've thought about that. It's a shame this is not a Hogsmeade weekend, but I do have an idea."

They snuck out into a little used part of the dungeons where Tom claimed he'd found the perfect thing in an old storage chamber. Knowing that Tom, growing up in an orphanage, had no money, Harry didn't question his odd suggestion and followed him into the tiny, dusty room.

Cobwebs hung from the rafters, and there was only a long, narrow skylight with, of course, no sky on the other side, but the Black Lake. The room was dipped into an eerie green glow, and there didn't seem to be any lamps. In fact, the only things in the room were two old chests, a hatstand with a moth-eaten coat dangling from it, and a big old sofa full of holes and tears.

Harry blinked at Tom. "So - where's the present?"

Tom smirked, pointing at the sofa.

Harry couldn't help it, he laughed out loud. "You're going to give Minerva a ratty old sofa?"

"Not exactly." Tom walked up to it, standing right under the skylight.

Harry, annoyingly, felt his breath catch when the dim light made Tom's hair gleam and his eyes sparkle.

"I'm going to make some alterations to this, naturally, and you can help me," Tom said, assessing the sofa from all sides. "We could give it to her as a present from both of us."

Harry approached him. "Okay. But what do we do with it?"

Tom stood back, pointing his wand at the sofa, and said, "Reparo!" As soon as the tears and holes had fixed themselves, he followed this with, "Scourgify."

Harry blushed at a certain memory as he watched the sofa clean itself. "It's still hideous," he murmured.

Tom grinned at him, then said a couple more spells, and the sofa reshaped itself into a love seat just like the ones Pansy had conjured in the Room of Requirement.

Now Harry really blushed, wishing he could stop thinking about touching, or being touched by, Tom all the time. "Nice," he murmured distractedly.

"What colour should it be?" Tom asked.

Harry said the first thing that came into his head. "The McGonagall tartan."

Snickering, Tom transfigured the fabric and then admired the end result. "That was a brilliant idea, Harry. She'll love it."

Harry smiled. "Probably. But that wasn't much of a contribution from me."

Smirking at Harry, Tom said, "You can help me test it."

"Te… test it?" Harry stammered.

"Yes. You know, sit on it." Tom elegantly lowered himself into the love seat and crossed his long legs. "Very nice."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, swallowing.

"Come here, Harry," Tom said in a low murmur, his eyes holding Harry's.

Harry walked towards him almost automatically, his legs anything but steady, and when Tom shifted ever so slightly, he perched on the seat next to him. "Very… um, comfortable."

"Hm." Tom tilted his head at him. "You don't look comfortable."

"No, I am. Honestly," Harry hurried to reassure him. "It's a great sofa. She'll love it."

Tom was watching him. "Shall we do it together then?" Harry's mouth opened and closed, but no words came out while he stared at Tom. "Shall we give this to Minerva together, from both of us?" Tom clarified with a smile.

Harry was shaking. "Yeah. That'll be fine."

"Splendid." Tom rose fluidly and held out his hand to Harry. When Harry took it, he pulled him to his feet, then let go of him immediately. "We'll shrink it Sunday evening then, right before we take it up to the tower."

Harry nodded. "Okay." He wiped the back of his hand over his forehead, feeling far too warm.

"Is your scar bothering you?" Tom asked solicitously.

Harry immediately felt even hotter with the sheer anticipation of Tom's touch, and said hesitantly, "It's fine. I think?"

Tom merely nodded and turned to walk out the door. Harry stared after him with his mouth hanging open. When he muttered under his breath, "Bastard!" he was quite sure he heard Tom chuckling smugly.

* * *

By Sunday evening, the complete absence of Tom's little 'accidental' touches was seriously wearing on Harry, and he decided to make himself feel better by putting a lot of effort into the way he dressed for Minerva's party. He was suddenly glad Pansy had insisted he got some decent, well-fitting clothes, especially once he looked into the mirror. He was wearing smooth black trousers and a deep green cashmere pullover which brought out the colour of his eyes, and he even managed to tame his hair somewhat. He thought he looked okay like that. At least until he saw Tom.

His black hair laid into smooth waves, Tom was waiting by the dormitory door, wearing a dark grey wool suit over a crisp white shirt. He wasn't wearing a tie, but a grey and purple striped silk scarf hung loosely over the lapels of his jacket. He looked, quite simply, stunning.

Harry wondered for a moment how he could afford to dress like that, but knowing Tom's Transfiguration skills, his outfit might have started life as some old rags.

"Ready, Harry?" Tom called out with his hand on the door handle.

Harry hoped very much that their three dorm mates actually present wouldn't notice the way he was ogling Tom or, for that matter, the way Tom's eyes were moving up and down over him. "Yes," he croaked.

On the stairs to the common room, Tom whispered, "You look fantastic, Harry."

"Actually, next to you, I look like a blade of grass." Tugging at his suddenly far too garish seeming green jumper, Harry added dryly, "Or a weed." He was trying not to feel too giddy about Tom's compliment.

Tom chuckled. "Are you calling me a flower then?"

"Yeah, a thorny rose," Harry said, grinning.

"You've been talking to Minerva," Tom guessed accurately. "That girl's too poetic for her own good!"

They joked all the way up to the Astronomy tower, but just before they opened the last door to exit the dim staircase onto the turret, Tom held Harry back with a hand on his arm. "I have a bit of a reason to celebrate myself. I want to tell you before I mention it to Minerva and Pansy."

Harry looked at him eagerly. "Go on."

"I've been made Prefect," Tom said proudly. "Professor Slughorn told me this afternoon; apparently, I was meant to be since term started, but there's been…" He sneered. "Opposition. You can guess who." Harry sighed. He could indeed. "However," Tom continued. "Slughorn and Dippet finally made a decision in my favour."

"That's great, Tom." Harry smiled.

"Yes, isn't it?" There was barely enough light in the staircase to distinguish Tom's features, but he sounded devious when he said, "You know what this means, don't you, Harry?"

Harry shivered at the way Tom's voice had lowered, positively purring at him. "N… no?" he whispered.

"It means I get to take points from unruly students myself. And more importantly…" Tom leaned in close enough for his lips to nearly touch the lobe of Harry's ear. "I get to apply spankings where I see fit." With that last, his hand strayed around Harry's hip and applied a quick, well-placed slap to his right buttock.

Harry squeaked, his eyes widening; but Tom was already leaving through the door at the top of the tower, chuckling softly to himself.


	12. Hidden Rooms, Forbidden Things

When they walked out onto the turret, Minerva immediately waved to them from beside a buffet table with drinks, sweets and finger foods she'd had the house elves set up. "You two look stunning!" she declared, her blue eyes bright in the light spread by a dozen floating lanterns.

"Next to you, fair lady, we look like weeds," Tom said with a mock bow and a wink at Harry.

Harry tried to laugh, but was still rather shaken from that playful slap to his backside. Tom couldn't have been serious about the spanking. Could he?

Pansy came over to join them. Like Minerva, she was wearing a dress with a calf-long, smooth skirt; Pansy's dress was red and slightly off her shoulder, while Minerva's was dark blue with a wide, standing collar.

"You look lovely too, Pansy," Harry said awkwardly.

She grinned. "Thanks. So, what did you two bring for Minnie?"

Minerva laughed. "How rude, Pansy! They don't have to give me anything."

Winking at her, Pansy said, "You didn't mind getting my present."

Tom laughed when Harry pretended horror. "Dare we ask?"

Giggling, Minerva lifted her necklace away from her neck and held it in front of her. When they leaned in for a closer look, they made out a highly detailed, silver pendant of a Highland thistle, and complimented her on it.

"Time for our present," Tom said, retrieving the shrunken love seat - wrapped in a white bow - from his pocket. "From Harry and me. Happy birthday, Minerva." He lightly kissed her cheek, and she blushed.

When Pansy poked Harry in the side, he too leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Minerva's cheek. He never in a million years would have expected to ever kiss McGonagall, and almost couldn't contain a yelp of surprise at how soft and smooth her cheek was, and how much like peaches and fresh apples Minerva smelled. Time travel was a very disturbing business.

"Charmers, you two are," Minerva declared. "What's this then?" She took the miniaturised love seat from Tom's hand and smiled. "Oh, look at it, Pansy! It's adorable." They admired it together, giggling. Everyone agreed it would be better not to enlarge it until it was in its proper place inside the head girl's room Minerva inhabited.

The party consisted of a number of Gryffindors from fifth to seventh year, several Ravenclaws, a handful of Hufflepuffs, and Tom and Harry. Minerva had asked more Slytherins to come, but apparently, they'd politely declined, to her regret.

"Oh, there's Hagrid!" Minerva called out suddenly, waving.

Harry turned to watch Hagrid lumbering towards them. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of a younger version of the half-giant.

"Hello, Minerva!" Hagrid boomed. "Thanks fer inviting me. Had a bit of a job squeezin' up them tower stairs, but here…" He held out a badly wrapped, cube-shaped parcel, grinning. "Happy birthday to ye!"

Minerva smiled. "Thanks, Hagrid. Sorry, I never thought about the stairs." She unwrapped the parcel while saying, "I don’t think you've really met Pansy and Harry, have you?"

Hagrid leaned down a bit. "Hello, Harry. Hello, Pansy." He shook their hands enthusiastically.

Harry noticed that Pansy didn't look too pleased, though that might have been because Hagrid very nearly crushed her fingers in his grip.

"Evenin', Tom," Hagrid said cautiously.

Harry turned to find Tom looking completely stone-faced - he'd seen enough of the boy's genuine smiles directed at him to shudder at the cold expression.

"Hello, Hagrid," Tom said, sounding perfectly polite. Harry frowned at him, and Tom met his eyes, looking confused about Harry's annoyance.

At that point, Minerva screeched, dropping the parcel. A thick black Acromantula scurried out of it and across the turret, scattering screaming students in its path, then up and out through one of the crenels.

"Ah, sorry 'bout that, Minerva. Never thought it might do that!" Hagrid exclaimed regretfully. "I can get ye another one?"

"No!" Minerva was breathing heavily, glad of Pansy's hand rubbing her back soothingly. "No, it's fine, Hagrid. Really. I much prefer animals to be… um… free." She forced a smile onto her face, but was clearly shaken.

Tom inhaled sharply, and when Harry looked at him, he saw that Tom's fine-boned hands were balled into fists at his sides. "I'm getting something to drink," Tom said through clenched teeth. "Anyone want something? Harry?"

Harry shook his head. "No, thanks."

Tom sighed and walked away, but returned shortly after with pumpkin juice for himself and Harry. "Thought you might have changed your mind," he simply said.

Taking the glass from Tom, Harry shrugged. "Thanks."

"What happened, Harry?" Tom asked, pulling him aside to stand at the edge of the parapet. "Did I say anything wrong?"

Harry shook his head. That was the point - Tom hadn't said anything, but his thoughts might as well have been written in blazing letters in the air between them, rather like in his second year, when Tom had written his name for him in fire. He shuddered at the memory.

"Harry?"

"No, it's fine. Just…" Harry looked at Tom sternly. "You don't like Hagrid, do you?"

Tom seemed surprised. "To be honest - no, I don't. How can you tell? I don't think even Minerva knows how much I dislike him, and she has plenty of reason herself."

Harry sipped his pumpkin juice. "What do you mean?"

"Look, Harry. If you like Hagrid, I won't say a word against him." Tom seemed uncomfortable.

Harry braced himself to hear about Hagrid breeding monsters at the school as part of Tom's future reasoning for getting Hagrid expelled. "I'd like to know, Tom."

Tom sighed. "During my first year - Minerva's third, obviously - Hagrid was keeping some… pets he never should have been allowed. I've no idea how he got them, or what on earth they were meant to be. Anyway, one of them got out, because he doesn't keep them locked away well enough, and it bit Minerva. She was terribly sick in the hospital wing for more than a week, all swollen up and vomitting. It took them that long to find a cure." The muscles of his jaw were twitching tensely. "Minerva is very forgiving, or he would have been expelled then; mind you, I don't think she'll ever quite trust that big oaf again. And Dumbledore was very forgiving as well, because after all…" Here Tom sneered. "It's not as if Hagrid _meant_ to hurt her."

Harry blinked. He vividly remembered Hagrid sending him and Ron into the Forbidden Forest during their second year without a word of warning about the Acromantulas - one of them had just scurried off there, hadn't it? He knew Ron still had nightmares about that sometimes. Even so, it seemed rather hypocritical of Tom to hold that against Hagrid. "So, you've never had a dangerous pet then?" he asked, in part to fluster Tom, in part to find out how close to opening the Chamber of Secrets he truly was.

Tom looked surprised, but certainly not flustered or guilty. "No." After a pause, he added, "And if I ever did, I would never allow it to hurt one of my friends."

"What happened to Hagrid's pet?" Harry asked without blinking. "The one that bit Minerva?"

"I killed it." Tom finished his pumpkin juice. "They only found the antidote after examining the thing."

Harry stared at him. "Oh."

With a sigh, Tom took the empty glass from Harry's fingers and set it down on the ground. "Can we talk about something else?" he asked softly.

"Yes," Harry agreed. "Yes, please." He looked across the turret to where Minerva was showing her miniature love seat to some fellow Gryffindors, beaming proudly. "She's a good friend, isn't she?"

"She certainly is. And she used to be my only friend." Tom smiled slightly, then turned that smile on Harry, who promptly flushed. "Come on, I haven't told her my news yet," Tom prompted, pulling Harry along with him.

Minerva was immensely pleased that Tom had been made a Prefect. She immediately began to give him all sorts of advice, which he listened to with a smile, nodding agreeably every now and then. All throughout, his eyes rested on Harry.

"Why are you blushing?" Pansy whispered into Harry's ear.

"I’m not. Just a little too much… um…"

"Pumpkin juice? Butter beer? Imagination?" she suggested, snickering.

"Oh, shut up," he said softly, which amused her even more.

* * *

When the party finally wound down, and Minerva and Pansy were standing a little bleary-eyed by the door into the tower to see people off, Tom suggested that he and Harry would take care of vanishing the tables, decorations and leftovers. "You don't mind, Harry, do you?" he asked.

"No, of course not." Harry smiled at the girls, wondering why Tom really wanted to stay behind. Suddenly, he was feeling extremely nervous.

"If you're sure?" Minerva checked, trying to suppress a yawn.

"No trouble at all," Tom, sounding wide awake by comparison, reassured her.

The girls said goodnight and left, and Tom and Harry set about sending the food and plates down to the kitchens and putting everything else back to rights. Using their wands, it took them only a few minutes, and then, they were alone on the highest turret of the castle, and everything was silent as the grave.

Harry was suddenly shivering. "Better get back to the dorm, I guess."

Tom was walking towards him, smiling. "Already, Harry? It's such a beautiful night."

Harry retreated a few steps and found himself with his back against cool stone. "Yes, I suppose it is," he muttered, unsettled by the way Tom's eyes roamed over him. "Almost midnight though," he pointed out meekly.

"But I'm a Prefect now," Tom said mischievously. "It's all right if you're in my company. You're quite… safe with me, Harry."

Harry chuckled nervously. "I'm not so sure about that."

Tom had reached him, and there was nowhere for him to go. "You don't think you're in any danger, being alone with me, do you?" he murmured, his voice low and a slight smirk playing around his lips. When he placed his hands on either side of Harry against the stone, not quite touching the other boy, he heard Harry's breathing speed up.

"Depends on what you mean by danger." Harry tried to keep his voice light, but his teeth were chattering with nervousness.

"Are you cold?" Tom asked, to Harry's surprise.

"A bit," Harry lied, not wanting to admit it was all nerves.

"Oh." Tom took a step back. "I don't want you catching a cold. We'd better get back inside." He turned and walked to the door leading back down into the tower.

Harry was left standing on the windy turret, cursing softly under his breath. He just _knew_ Tom was playing with him, and it was wearing him down to the bone. Grinding his teeth, he followed the other boy through the door - Tom was holding it open - and down the winding steps to the base of the tower.

There, Tom suddenly pressed his hand against an oddly-shaped, smoother looking stone high up on the wall, and a rectangular area of the wall slid open. He pushed Harry through it, and once the wall closed behind them again with a softly murmured incantation from Tom, dozens of candles placed all around the dark room sprang to life.

Harry gasped, looking around. The room held nothing but candles and lamps, lamp oil and jars of beeswax, which filled the room with their sweet, honey-like scent. And the lit candles - clearly having been placed just so in advance - dipped everything into a warm, golden glow which reflected off every glass, crystal and brass surface in the room. It was the most romantic sight. Harry's heart was pounding. "What is this?"

"The chandlery," Tom explained. "Unlike most castles, Hogwarts has several, but this one is so old, it's basically forgotten." He smiled. "I'm constantly finding interesting, forgotten rooms - how do you like it?"

"It's very nice," Harry murmured. Tom was standing very close to him. "Why are we here?"

"You were cold, Harry. And it's much warmer here, don't you think?" Tom purred, making Harry shiver. "Still cold?"

"If I say yes, will you drag me off somewhere else?" Harry asked, a little frustrated and by now wary of Tom's sudden withdrawals.

Tom chuckled softly. "Would you like me to drag you off somewhere?"

"No." Harry gasped when Tom gently pushed him back against the wall with one hand on his chest, then leaned in until his warm breath curled into the shell of Harry's ear. "No," he repeated, swallowing hard. "Here's fine."

"Fine for what?" A cool finger traced the outline of the ear Tom was whispering into. He slipped off Harry's glasses and pocketed them.

Harry gulped. "For… for…"

"You've been wanting me to touch you again, haven't you, Harry?" Tom purred.

"Yes," Harry admitted, and was rewarded for his honesty with Tom's long fingers tracing his scar before combing through his hair, tipping his face up towards Tom's - glowing and beautiful in the candlelight.

"And I've been wanting to touch you so much, Harry," Tom breathed across his cheek. "I can barely keep from touching you every time I see you. I feel like winter, reaching for spring."

Harry closed his eyes with a sigh that left his lips parted ever so slightly.

"Yes, Harry. Don't fight me," Tom murmured against Harry's lips. "Give in to me." Harry's lips were covered by Tom's warm, tender mouth. A hand slid between the wall and Harry's head, cradling it in a warm palm, while Tom parted Harry's lips gently, with the slightest pressure of the tip of his tongue.

And Harry yielded, because there was nothing else he could do. Tom opened him like a blossom, one petal at a time - so slowly, so patiently, his tongue flickering so slightly against the soft flesh of his lips that Harry barely felt his own surrender until it was complete. Then the tip of Tom's tongue caressed his own, and he knew he'd allowed Tom all the way inside. Suddenly weak in the knees, Harry sagged, but Tom's arm moved around him, warm palm on his back, the other cradling the back of his head.

Harry reached up around Tom's neck, pressing close, and the groan reverberating through Tom's chest echoed inside him. He'd never been kissed like this, had never expected that a kiss could make one feel like flying and drowning and praying and dying all at once. Tom was feeding him his tongue, letting him suckle on it and rub his own against it until he too was sagging into Harry, and they held each other suspended against the wall, almost boneless, completely drugged with each other's taste.

Tom's lips released Harry's when the lack of oxygen became unbearable, but only to press tender butterfly kisses on his cheek and his nose and his temples, fingers tracing Harry's jaw and tilting his face this way and that while Tom's lips fluttered across his skin.

Harry moaned, his eyes closing and opening rapidly, blood surging hotly through his veins each time Tom passed by his gasping lips, nipped at them, tickled the corners of Harry's open mouth with the tip of his tongue. "Tom," he sighed. "Tom… don't stop..."

"I'll never stop unless you ask me to," Tom whispered against Harry's cheek, his fingers fluttering across Harry's Adam's apple, tilting up his chin so he could press his lips to his exposed neck, kissing and licking there until Harry's head dropped back and to the side, his fingers tangling in Tom's silk scarf. Tom's moist, plump lips kissed the sensitive skin under Harry's ear, closed over his lobe and nipped, and when Harry shuddered hard in his embrace, fingers clawing at his chest even through his shirt and scarf, he bit down on the tender flesh, a surge of arousal shooting through him at Harry's whimper.

Harry's eyes rolled up, starring at the out of focus circles of light sent dancing across the ceiling by the multitude of flickering candles. His fingers slipped underneath Tom's scarf, moved around his neck - smoother and warmer even than the silk - and he turned his head until he could capture Tom's lips again. They kissed open-mouthed, breathless, with their tongues curling against each other, licking and tasting and sending their blood rushing through them at a speed to make them both dizzy. And terribly aroused.

Tom pressed forward into Harry, sliding against him, both of them so hard and hot - their groans at that realisation simultaneous. And Tom knew nothing could stop him now. Nothing. Nothing…

"Tom, stop!" Harry gasped.

And he stopped at once, leaning into Harry, supported by him and panting against his damp cheek. He wanted to cry. He wanted to cry with frustration and happiness and hope, and Harry was brighter than all the candles in the room, glowing in front of him - brighter than all the darkness in Tom's mind. And if Harry were to push him away altogether, that darkness would swallow him up, he knew. He looked into Harry's eyes, silently pleading with him not to abandon him.

And Harry smiled. And blushed. "Sorry. Bit too fast," he whispered brokenly. And then he pulled Tom close again and cradled his head against the side of his neck, running his fingers through Tom's smooth black hair.

Too fast… That was all. Tom smiled against Harry's neck. He could live with that. He had promised patience, and he would never break a promise to Harry.


	13. Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered

Pansy was curled up against Minerva's side on the new tartan love seat, studying. Or trying to study, which was quite difficult with Minerva's scent distracting her, not to mention Minerva's long fingers playing with her hair and tickling gently up and down her forearm. "Hmm," she hummed.

Minerva took that as a prompt to distract her some more, because she moved her hand from Pansy's arm to her leg, pretending to smooth the wool of her school skirt over her knee, while in truth pushing it up higher and higher little by little.

"I’m going to fail this class, and it'll be your fault," Pansy complained, but she was smiling.

"Nonsense. You're far too bright," Minerva said. "Why, I'm quite sure I could tie you to my bed for hours each day and you'd still manage to pass."

Pansy stared at her, breathing hard. "Oh, sweet Merlin."

Giggling, Minerva let her tickling fingers slide under the trim of Pansy's skirt. She ran them up over her knee, creating static between the wool of her skirt and the silk of her stockings in the process. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

With a nod, Pansy covered the roaming hand through the fabric, moving it upwards impatiently. "You're all talk though," she complained. "You've yet to tie me to anything."

"Maybe I've not found anything silky enough to be worthy of touching your skin," Minerva suggested.

"Excuses," Pansy murmured, leaning in to kiss the corner of Minerva's mouth. "You've got your hand on a silk stocking, Minnie. I'm sure that'll do nicely."

Minerva captured Pansy's lips, and they shared a long, heated kiss, until she finally panted, "You want me to tie you up with your stockings?"

"God, yes please!" Pansy gasped.

There was a knock on the door, and both of them cursed in a very unladylike manner.

"Unless your name is either Tom Riddle or Harry Potter," Minerva called out. "Kindly go away and come back in an hour."

"Three," Pansy whispered, smirking.

"Three!" Minerva repeated more loudly, wide-eyed.

"It's one of them. The names, I mean," came a hesitant and familiar voice from the other side of the door.

"Such eloquence." Pansy chuckled. "Has to be Harry." She straightened up next to Minerva and smoothed down her obscenely high-riding skirt.

"Come in!" Minerva called, tucking her own clothes back into place.

Harry peered sheepishly around the door. "Sorry, bad time?"

"You could say that," said Pansy.

He blushed. "Um… I can come back later."

"Come in, you oaf," Pansy said affectionately.

Minerva waved him over to sit in the nearest armchair. "What's the matter, Harry?"

"Nothing, really." Harry couldn't quite suppress a foolish smile.

"Oh oh." Pansy snickered. "Someone's had a wild night on top of a turret."

Harry's eyes widened while Minerva cackled gleefully. "What? No! Merlin, nothing like that." He cleared his throat. "He... _kissed_ me." The way he said it - his voice awed and husky - left no doubt that the experience hadn't been an unpleasant one.

Minerva let out a little yelp of delight, then quickly schooled her beaming features into a semblance of normality. "That's lovely though, isn't it?" She looked confused when Harry and Pansy exchanged an odd glance.

"Yes," Harry said softly.

Pansy, cautious not to say too much, asked, "What was it like?"

Harry flushed. "Not… um, normal." When the girls snickered at this, he quickly explained, "I'm serious. I almost passed out."

Pansy's eyes widened. "Forgive us if we don't feel sorry for you, Harry."

Minerva's mouth hung open. "Blimey. I can imagine!" When Pansy raised a brow at her, she smiled sheepishly. "Don't worry, dearie. I haven't really imagined that for years. Dear Tom's _never_ been a ladies' man."

"Is there actually anyone who doesn't fancy Tom?" Harry asked after a moment's pause.

Pansy giggled. "Looks like you're one very lucky boy, Harry."

He lowered his eyes, not quite able to hide a slight smile, to the girls' amusement.

"Why aren't you in the Slytherin dorms, snogging him silly?" Minerva asked reasonably.

Pansy bit her lip; she had a fair idea. "I'm guessing Harry's trying to keep a clear head."

Minerva looked very surprised. "Why would he want a clear head when he's got Tom?" When this was met with peals of laughter, she grinned. "Oh, I think I see. Would Harry be trying to hold on to his virginity a wee while longer?"

Harry didn't look at all pleased at her conclusion, accurate though it was - at least in part. Suddenly, his eyes widened. "Bugger! I came here to give you a message, Minerva!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "I was to remind you to meet with the head boy and the Quidditch instructor in Dippet's office to sort out teams for the year."

Minerva gave a little shriek and leapt from the sofa. "Oh no!"

Harry pulled at his hair until it stood every which way. "I can't believe I forgot why I came here." And with his eyes widening comically, he added, "I can't believe I forgot about _Quidditch_!"

"I can." Pansy chuckled.

"I can't!" Minerva exclaimed. "I knew about this meeting - it was set up last week. I completely forgot myself!" She stared at Pansy. "Sirens and distractions, the lot of you!"

Harry felt a little better now. "Well, as long as I'm not the only one with a muddled head."

Minerva assessed him for a moment. "Please tell me you play Quidditch, Harry. Because we Gryffindors are a sad lot at the moment, and we could really use a muddled head on the Slytherin team."

Pansy laughed out loud. "You're out of luck, Minnie. Harry's a top seeker. At least he was, until Tom, so now who knows?"

Harry glared at her while Minerva threw on her school robes, muttering, "Well, there is that. I'd better be off to see the headmaster." She leaned down to kiss Pansy. "Don't go anywhere. We had plans, remember?"

"Oh, I remember." Pansy grinned. "Someone around here has to remember _something_." Turning to Harry, she said, "Speaking of which - Hogsmeade weekend coming up. Apparently, we get to go to that nice little town we saw when we arrived." She winked at Harry.

"Really?" Harry feigned curiosity. "That should be interesting."

Minerva was rushing out the door. "I'll be back as soon as I can." She waved and was gone.

As soon as the door closed, Harry fell back down on the armchair.

"Tea?" Pansy offered, summoning the pot and a new mug from the side table before Harry had a chance to answer. She poured him some tea and handed him the cup. "So, which one of you snapped first?" she asked casually.

Harry snorted. "I think it's fair to say there was mutual snapping."

Pansy smiled. "Why am I not surprised?" After sipping some tea, she asked, "Anyway, there's something else bugging you, isn't there?"

Harry nodded. "I don't know how to bring up certain… things. You know, things I'm not meant to know about at all. The Chamber of Secrets, the diary, the basilisk--"

"Don't," Pansy cautioned. "Wait for Tom to bring them up. Does he seem to be keeping secrets from you?"

"I don't think so. I know he hasn't opened the Chamber yet, because he definitely hasn't communicated with the basilisk yet either."

Pansy frowned. "How do you know that?"

"He told me. In a way." Harry remembered their conversation regarding Minerva at the party but didn't think it up to him to be telling Pansy. Suddenly, he gaped at her. "Hang on, I'm actually believing things simply because he tells them to me!"

Pansy smiled a little. "You can't have love without trust, Harry."

"But I don't--" Harry stopped. He quickly sipped some tea, his throat suddenly dry.

Pansy watched him carefully. "Are you sure?"

Harry set down his cup and rested his head in his hands, nodding slightly, but then shaking it. He rubbed his hands over his face and dropped them on his knees, leaning forward. "Look, I'm not sure about anything at the moment. But I've been thinking… What if I do take the chance and trust him? No one else seems to, and I definitely know what _that_ feels like." He sighed. "If I can lay myself out in front of him, completely open and vulnerable…" He blushed. "So to speak. And if he doesn't take advantage or strike out, then I'll know..."

"That maybe you can save his soul. And a lot of lives," Pansy concluded. "There's a lot of risk in this," she admitted, reaching out to squeeze Harry's hand. "I'm sorry that everything always comes down to him and you."

Harry attempted a smile. "What's the worst that could happen? He'll kill me in the future anyway. Might as well take the chance here and now, right?" When Pansy winced, he added, "I honestly don't think he will, Pansy. I don't know why I'm so sure, but I am." He returned the pressure of her hand. "I'd better go. Potions essay to see to."

"Please be careful, Harry," Pansy said softly.

"I will be." He stood up. "Night, Pansy."

"Night." Once he'd left, Pansy murmured to herself, "You're a lot closer to loving him than you realise, poor thing."

* * *

Harry hadn't gone very far before he was pulled into an empty classroom and found himself in the dark, with another boy closing the door by leaning against it. "Tom?" he gasped, recognising him by his scent even before his eyes adjusted to make out his features.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," Tom whispered, tugging Harry nearer by his hands and kissing his cheek softly.

"Why?" Harry murmured, his eyes closing.

"Because you left right after classes, and I haven't seen you since. I've missed you."

Warmth spread in Harry's belly. "Went for a walk. And then I had to…" He shivered when Tom's hand curled around his nape. "Find Minerva, to give her a message."

"Anything important?" Tom asked, sounding far more interested in the texture of Harry's skin as he traced it reverently.

"Quidditch teams." Harry swallowed hard. "They need sorting out." He whimpered when Tom's mouth brushed his cheek, then kissed along his jaw. "Or something," he gasped. "And also…"

"Hm?" Tom licked a line from Harry's jaw to his ear, where he curled his tongue around the outer shell.

"Hu… Huh…" Harry finally puffed out, " _Hogsmeade!_ "

Tom chuckled. His hand had somehow managed to make it to Harry's waist unnoticed, and his fingers were curling around Harry's belt, dipping inside the waistband ever so slightly. "You drive me mad when you're incoherent."

"You must be mad a lot then," Harry muttered, covering Tom's wandering hand and sliding it up into safer territory, namely to splay across his stomach through a barrier of cotton shirt.

"About you, all the time." Tom kissed him, and his gentle, awkwardly angled stroking of Harry's stomach felt every bit as intense as his tongue thrusting into Harry's mouth.

Harry kissed him back, clutching at Tom's shoulders, for as long as he dared. When he began to grow light-headed, he pulled back and whispered, "Haven't had dinner yet. Are you hungry?"

"Starving," Tom murmured, caressing the back of Harry's head but doing nothing to close the slight distance between them again. His eyes were black with longing, and it took a lot of willpower for Harry to give him a slight smile and stand back entirely.

"Let's go eat, Tom."

"If we must." Tom returned his smile, then pushed himself away from the door and followed Harry into the corridor.


	14. A Taste of War

Bundled up in layers of wool and heavy coats against the rapidly approaching winter, Harry, Tom, Pansy and Minerva made their way to Hogsmeade that Saturday. The girls were arm in arm, while Harry and Tom walked at a slight distance - if their hands brushed every once in a while, it was certainly by accident.

"There's going to be a ball on New Year's Eve, did you know?" Minerva said just as they neared the edge of town. "The headmaster reminded me at the meeting the other day."

Harry groaned. Not another one of those!

Pansy, on the other hand, had a spring to her step. "I can't wait. Such a pity you couldn't get the gramophone from the caretaker's room, Minnie - I'd love to practise; haven't danced in ages."

"Something we can appropriate for you?" Tom offered.

"Oh, please no," Harry muttered. When Tom and Minerva gave him a surprised glance, while Pansy only smirked, he shrugged. "Two left feet."

Pansy giggled. "I've seen you dancing, Harry. You couldn't do worse with four left feet!" There was much chuckling at his expense.

Minerva pursed her lips. "We'll just have to teach you then. And in time for the ball."

"I'll buy a gramophone. I want us to have one of our own anyway, Minnie," Pansy stated. "We'll have a couple of months to teach Harry."

Minerva glanced at Tom walking next to her. "Tom can teach him. He's a divine dancer."

"Excuse me," Harry muttered. "I'm actually right here, and furthermore - I really don't like dancing at all."

Tom smiled at him. "You will by the time I'm done with you, Harry, trust me." He winked, causing Harry to blush. "And you can learn as a present for me. It's my birthday New Year's Eve."

"Oh aye, that's right!" Minerva exclaimed. "Mind you, Tom, I'd ask him for something else, if I were you."

Tom and Pansy chuckled, while Harry turned scarlet, trying to hide his face by pulling his scarf higher up his cheek.

"Who said I only want the one present," Tom said, hooking his index finger behind the scarf to pull it down from Harry's face, caressing his cheek in the process. "You're all red, Harry. Feeling warm?" he teased.

"Roasting," Harry muttered, mortally embarrassed. "Who am I supposed to go to this ball with? I'm guessing I can't go with you, Tom."

Tom's smile vanished. "I'm not going with anyone else."

"And I'm not going with anyone but Pansy," Minerva stated. "This'll be awkward. Dippet would have a heart attack, to say nothing of the rest of the school."

Pansy pouted. "That's rather… old-fashioned."

Tom had a calculating look on his face. "We'll all go together. Let them make of that what they will. I certainly don't care for anyone's approval."

"Nor do I." Harry looked at him, and they exchanged a smile.

Minerva and Pansy concurred that it was a great idea. "So, where in Hogsmeade do we get a gramophone?" asked Pansy.

Minerva's face fell. "I can't think that anyone would have one. Douglas & Fingal have records, even some muggle ones, but I've never seen a gramophone there. We should ask them though."

Twenty minutes later, they stood, sulking, in the centre of Hogsmeade. They'd had no luck in either of the two shops suggested by Mr Fingal.

"Diagon Alley then," Tom said simply.

Minerva frowned. "We can't go there, Tom."

"You're head girl, and I'm a prefect. Why ever not?"

"School rules." Minerva sighed. "Anyway, they'll know in the floo office that we're students. They'd never let us use it." When Tom smirked, her eyes widened. "You're not going to… Apparate, are you?"

"You can Apparate?" Harry asked, amazed. When Tom nodded, he glanced at Pansy. "And I know you can, too."

Pansy grinned. "What about you, Minnie?"

Minerva shook her head. "Haven't got a license yet."

"Who needs a license?" Tom stated. "I can Apparate with Harry, and Pansy - you can take Minerva, no?"

Pansy nodded. "Of course."

Minerva didn't look at all happy. "But Tom!"

"No one needs to know, Minerva. What can go wrong? It's only Diagon Alley," Tom said impatiently.

Pansy gave Minerva's arm an encouraging squeeze, and Harry smiled. He'd risk being Apparated to the moon rather than go through the stomach-churning experience of a portkey or the mess of a floo. And the small matter of breaking school rules certainly didn't bother him.

Minerva gave in. "Oh, all right. You're a bad influence on me, Pansy," she protested, but a smile was beginning to tug at her mouth.

"And you love that about me," Pansy said. "We'd better find somewhere out of the way, where we can't be seen."

They went down a narrow alley devoid of people, and when they reached the far end of it, Tom pulled Harry close. "It's safest if you wrap your arms around me and hold on very tight," he said, smirking.

"Is it really?" Harry smiled at him, and did as he was told, sighing and pressing his face into the rough wool of Tom's coat when the boy's arms enclosed him.

There was a pop of Apparation a few feet away, and Pansy and Minerva were gone. Seconds later, so were Harry and Tom.

* * *

At first, Harry wondered whether they'd Apparated into the middle of a battlefield. A moment later, he realised they basically had. He was pulled back from Tom's embrace by a woman brushing past him as she ran by, pulling a girl wearing a gas mask along by the hand. The deafening whine of a siren filled the air, and there were thunderous echoes in the sky. People were running down the street towards a common destination somewhere. Harry was about to pull his wand, when he realised Tom hadn't pulled his. A moment later, it sunk in that they were in a crowd of muggles. "What on earth is going on?" Harry yelled over the noise. He saw then that Pansy and Minerva were running towards them, looking similarly confused.

Tom was staring disdainfully at the muggles rushing past them, then up at the sky. "Air raid," he said through clenched teeth, pointing up. There was a formation of bombers flying overhead, throwing looming black shadows in the afternoon sun, and with sudden clarity, everyone realised just exactly what was going on.

"Why are we in the mug… I mean, _here_?" Minerva called out.

"Something must have gone wrong with the Apparition." Tom cursed under his breath. "Some interference because of their blasted war." He grabbed Harry's arm. "Quick. We need to find cover somewhere."

"There's a shelter down the road, mate, in the tube station," a young man running past them yelled. "Just follow me."

Tom sneered. "I don't think so. Come on." He tugged Harry along, with Pansy and Minerva following closely. "We just need to find somewhere out of sight of these… people."

They ran in the opposite direction to the muggles, until Tom spotted a small and clearly abandoned shop. "In there!" he directed, and they made it inside just before a hideous whistling noise announced the first German bombs being dropped nearby. Minerva's hand nearly crushed Pansy's as they followed Tom and Harry inside the rather fragile looking building.

Harry, pulled by Tom into the far corner of what turned out to be an empty sweet shop, was suddenly very anxious about more than bombs. Tom, in the muggle world - nothing good could possibly come out of that. He fought down a rising panic and only vaguely heard Tom casting spell after spell, until the noise of the bombs grew dimmer, and it felt as if the four of them were surrounded by thick wads of cotton.

"Magical barriers," Tom explained. "Nothing any muggle can throw at us will break through these."

Minerva and Pansy heaved sighs of relief. "Merlin, how did we manage to get into this?" Pansy asked.

"We were near the Leaky Cauldron. I recognised the neighbourhood." Tom frowned.

Minerva confirmed this with a nod; she was visibly shaken. "Once in a while, the odd muggle strays into the wizarding world and ends up having to be obliviated," she murmured. "I suppose all this fighting has weakened the barrier between our worlds."

"Don't worry," Pansy soothed her. "We'll get back once the raid stops." She was holding on to Minerva.

Tom sat down and pulled Harry against his side. "Are you all right?" he asked, taking his hand.

A shower of plaster and broken glass from the storefront window rained down between them and the entrance, and the floor vibrated from the nearby impact.

Harry nodded, squeezing Tom's hand and letting his eyes sweep across the shop. "Yes, I am." He gasped. "Tom! Extend the barriers, quickly!" There was a little boy standing behind the counter, peering longingly into the empty shop display and trying to peel a piece of toffee from a tray it was stuck to with age. The child looked hungry enough not to care about the mayhem all around him.

"I can't, Harry. If I extend it further, it'll be too weak to protect all of us. Why?" When Harry pointed to the boy, Tom blinked at Harry in confusion. "Let the muggles find him; they started this bloody war."

" _These_ muggles didn't!" Harry hissed at him. "And certainly not that child. How do I get out of the barriers?"

" _No!_ " Tom gasped, his eyes wide. "No, Harry. You could get killed. Don't!" He pulled Harry back as he was about to leap out into the shop.

"I'm not letting him die!" Harry protested, trying to tear himself away from Tom.

"I'm not letting _you_ die!" Tom yelled, yanking Harry back into the barrier before rising to sprint across the shop. There, he snatched the boy up in his arms and made it back a split-second before the roof collapsed in front of them, its remnants left hovering above their little group and held there only by magic.

Pansy and Minerva were shaking, peering worriedly at the square of levitating ceiling over their heads.

"It'll hold, don't worry!" Tom panted, falling back on the ground next to Harry, who reached out to take the child from him.

But the boy started crying the moment he was pulled from Tom's grasp, and Harry let him be. The boy clung to Tom, his short, sticky fingers making a mess of Tom's lapels and half pulling his scarf from around his neck, and his cries slowly turned into muffled little sobs.

Tom looked down at the child as if it was a hideous toad, but he was holding it against his chest anyway.

Minerva couldn't help it - she giggled nervously, and Pansy joined in a moment later.

Tom growled with annoyance, awkwardly extracting a small finger from his buttonhole. He looked thoroughly put out.

Harry just looked on in silence, reaching out to carefully pluck chips of glass from the boy's red curls. The child squawked something unintelligible and pressed his tear-streaked cheek against Tom's chest with a sigh, apparently perfectly content to go to sleep right there. Harry didn't know what to think. For a horrible moment, he had expected that Tom would simply draw his wand and kill the child rather than bring it inside the barriers. But Tom had looked so terrified of losing Harry. And he had never even reached for his wand.

Some time later, the bombs stopped falling, and even through the cottony sound within the barriers, they could tell the air raid was over. They crawled out into the open, with Tom still carrying the boy who steadfastly refused to let anyone else pluck him from Tom's arms. As soon as they'd all left the barriers, they collapsed, and with them the oddly hovering square area of roof they had held up.

Coughing and covered in plaster, they walked out into the street, which was empty save for a woman with red hair and wild eyes. She was a mess of dirt and dust, and her clothes were torn. When she spotted them, she gasped and stumbled towards them. "Michael!" she called out, reaching for the boy.

Tom was only too glad to hand him over, and despite a murmur of discontent, the boy allowed his mother to take him from Tom's arms and hold him close. "You saved his life," the woman said, standing on her toes to kiss Tom's cheek before he could draw away in horror. "I thought I'd lost him. Thank you! Thank you so much!" She was too happy to even be aware of Tom's disgusted expression at her display, and hurried away bearing the child in her arms.

Tom stood there, scowling, while Pansy and Minerva looked on with a smile.

Harry cleared his throat, and Tom met his eyes, which were shining suspiciously. "Thank you," Harry said softly. He wrapped his arms around Tom's neck and kissed him for all he was worth, not caring a jot that they were standing in the middle of a demolished muggle street, that Tom tasted of plaster and dust, and that it was up to him to melt Tom's scowl into the awed, completely stunned expression he sported by the time Harry finally drew back, breathless and flustered.


	15. Comfort Zones

Minerva, thoroughly shaken, wanted to get back to Hogsmeade right away, but Pansy convinced her that they might as well do what they had come to London for; it might cheer them up. Their journey towards the Leaky Cauldron through still deserted streets was a slow one due to the rubble and shattered glass everywhere, but it seemed interminable to Harry.

Tom was being completely silent, walking very close to him and throwing sideways glances at him every so often. His expression was one of utter confusion and a kind of unease, but each time Harry returned his glance, and their eyes met, he seemed to make an effort to look calm. Harry already knew him too well to be fooled for a moment. Tom's tension was palpable, and he wanted nothing more than to ease it.

Diagon Alley should have been a sight for sore eyes after the mayhem of Muggle London. Instead, its bright colours and happily smiling shoppers and carefree child wizards demanding sweets and pet owls and broomsticks - and as a rule, getting what they wanted - were jarring and discordant, and all four of them felt it to varying degrees.

"Let's find a music shop and get back quickly, shall we?" Pansy said, shuddering a little.

"Fine with me." Harry looked at Tom. "Is there anywhere you want to go while we're here?" Tom merely shook his head; his continued silence was beginning to unsettle Harry intensely.

Minerva and Pansy offered to sort out the gramophone and some records by themselves, and Harry was grateful that he could simply remain behind with Tom; he suggested waiting at Flourish & Blotts, and Tom grunted softly. Harry assumed it was agreement.

Having no idea whether Tom had any money at all, Harry was self-conscious about buying anything, and he knew Tom wouldn't appreciate his offering to buy things for him. So he simply trailed his fingers listlessly along a row of books while Tom wandered off into the back of the shop. When Harry saw him again, he was heading towards the counter, placing a thick, tattered looking book there which didn't look at all magical. He inched closer, just managing to see the title as it was being packaged: _Muggle Wars and Warfare_. A thoughtful frown on his face, Harry went back to browsing until Tom was suddenly next to him.

"Do you want to get some ice-cream?" Tom offered, sounding almost normal, but he wasn't fooling Harry.

Harry shivered, both at his proximity and the pleasure of hearing him speak again at all, even if his voice was lacking its usual self-assurance. "Yes," he breathed, and followed Tom out of the shop.

* * *

They made it back to Hogwarts not long after the majority of students who had only been as far as Hogsmeade, and having shrunk their purchases, they weren't worried about being caught. It was therefore a surprise to Harry and Tom when they almost ran into Professor Slughorn on the way to the Slytherin common room.

"Ah, Tom. Just who I've been looking for," the short, rotund wizard said. "Good afternoon, Harry."

"Afternoon, Professor." Harry was unsure - were they in trouble?

"I have some good news, Tom," Slughorn said instead, and Tom's brows rose. "Come with me, I'd like to show you something."

Harry stepped aside, but Tom said, "Can Harry come along?"

"Yes. I don't see why not," Slughorn said, wandering off down the corridor. "I know you'll appreciate it, being a little more… well, private than most students. And more studious too, of course." Slughorn chatted all the way to the corridor leading towards the storeroom where Tom had found Minerva's sofa, but turning right instead of left, he took them to a door guarded by a painting of Poseidon. "There is no password yet, so you can set your own, of course," Slughorn stated.

Harry and Tom exchanged a confused glance while the door swung open on a small but very comfortable looking room. It was furnished in black wood and deep green fabrics with threads of blue and silver. There was a four-poster just like the ones in the dorms, a few pieces of practical furniture, and a pair of thickly cushioned armchairs. Instead of a fire-place, a pipe ran up through the ceiling to heaven knew where from the top of a small round wood burner, and there was a skylight much like the one in the store room. A grindylow floated by on the other side.

"Now that you're a Prefect, Tom, and space permits it, you're allowed to have a private room," Slughorn declared happily. "There's a small ensuite, but of course, use of the Prefect's Bathroom is another privilege."

"Thank you, Sir," Tom said politely, frowning. He glanced at Harry. "But I would like to continue staying in the dorm."

Harry gaped at him, and Slughorn's face fell. "Oh," he said. "I see. Ahem. Well… I suppose that's all right."

"You should take it," Harry quickly intercepted. "Really, Tom. At least it'll be a quiet place to study." Secretly, he was both flattered and relieved that Tom wasn't planning on sleeping so far away; he wouldn't be able to watch over him during his nightmares.

"Yes indeed," Slughorn agreed, beaming. "Quite right, Harry. What do you say, m'boy?"

Tom looked at Harry, who gave him an encouraging smile. "Yes, perhaps."

"Wonderful. Well, I hope you'll get lots of use out of it; it's nice to be able to retreat somewhere comfortable, isn't it?" Slughorn smiled. "And don't forget - your turn to make the rounds tonight."

"I won't forget, professor," Tom said politely. "And thank you, for arranging a private room for me."

"My pleasure, Tom. A top student should be rewarded, I say." Slughorn saw himself out, leaving Tom and Harry behind.

"I won't sleep here," Tom said. "Away from you."

Warmth washed over Harry. "But you… _we_ can study here," he said, pushing the door shut and walking up to Tom. "And it'll be a good place to keep the snake - which still needs a name, by the way." He smiled, and Tom looked at him blankly. Harry wanted to scream at him to come back, be _normal_ again.

Or did he? He had been thinking about what had happened that afternoon constantly, of course; Tom's continued silence had given him plenty of time. And one thing had been repeating in his mind like a broken record. Everything he knew of the Voldemort in his own time centred on his fear - no, his absolute horror - of death, and unwillingness to accept it as his inevitable fate; everything pointed to his own existence being what he valued higher than anything.

As if Tom had read Harry's mind, he suddenly said, "Don't ever scare me like that again!"

Harry, taken aback, blinked at him. "Tom?"

Tom's eyes flashed. Harry knew it might be anger, but to him, it looked like a mix of fear and longing and utter helplessness. "You know I can punish you for taking foolish risks." His hand flew up to brush over his Prefect's badge.

"But I didn't… It was you who…" Harry began. Tom was going to punish him for almost risking his life? It was his to risk.

"You would have. You were about to." Tom sounded weary. Perhaps that was why his muttered, "And for a muggle child, no less," lacked the venom Harry would have expected. He looked sadly at Harry. "And you can't, Harry. I can't let you. You do understand I need to punish you, don't you?"

Harry gulped. He knew at once what Tom was going to do. He knew he should be terrified. He also knew that the feelings churning in his stomach, tingling right down to his toes and in the tips of his fingers, had nothing to do with fear. He nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on Tom's.

Tom inhaled sharply. He reached behind himself to shift the chair from the writing desk into position, and sat down. "Come here, Harry," he ordered.

Harry slowly approached him, with Tom's eyes following his every step, until he was standing beside the chair, looking down at Tom.

"Remove your coat and undo your trousers," Tom said, and his voice was both commanding and tremulous, as if he was unsure of what he was about to do but couldn't help himself. "Then lie down across my lap."

Swallowing hard, the inside of his mouth suddenly too wet and his fingers shaking, Harry removed his heavy coat, as well as his jumper, and with Tom watching him with wide, dark eyes, he unbuttoned his trousers. By the time he bent forward to lower himself across Tom's lap, he was a bundle of nerves. Hard thighs through smooth wool were pressing into his chest and stomach, and he hoped he wouldn't end up embarrassing himself.

Tom was breathing heavily, and his skin seemed to burn even through his clothes. Or maybe Harry had a fever? He couldn't rule it out. Either way, everywhere they touched there was heat, and then Tom laid his hand on the small of Harry's back, on top of his warm, slightly sweat-damp shirt.

Harry gasped, waiting. When Tom's hand shifted and his fingers curled around the waist of his trousers, he closed his eyes. With excruciating slowness, Tom pushed his trousers back and down just barely over Harry's hips, revealing the smooth white cotton of his underwear and the curve of his tight backside. Harry didn't know which one of them was panting more loudly. He felt the heat of Tom's palm right through the cotton, felt it as if the boy's hand was reaching right inside him, underneath his very skin.

When Tom's long fingers twisted slightly in the cotton, sliding it ever so slowly down past the shallow indents at the base of his spine, Harry's entire body stiffened, and the fingers smoothed his underwear back down, leaving it in place.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and dropped his head forward over the side of Tom's thigh, resting his burning cheek against it, while his hands clutched the edge of the chair and the closest chair leg. And then he braced himself.

The first slap was a mere warm-up. Almost more of a caress. The second and third were harder, and Tom began to speak as the flat of his hand connected with Harry's buttocks, one at a time. "Don't you dare risk your life like that, Harry!" A fourth slap, and Tom's free hand came to rest on the top of Harry's head where it lay against his leg. "You must know…" The fifth one stung, and Tom's voice was ragged. "How much I need you."

With the sixth slap, the stinging increased, but so did the impact of Tom's words, and Harry gasped, squirming slightly. Tom must have thought he was about to panic, because his hand began to stroke over Harry's hair soothingly, his slim fingers combing through the dark strands.

"I can't lose you." Seven landed right across the centre of his backside, shooting through Harry with an intensity none of the slaps to either cheek had achieved. "I don't know what I'd do…"

Eight landed in the centre again, but lower, nearer the tops of his thighs, and this time, Harry didn't gasp. He _moaned_.

And Tom's voice cracked on the words, "Without you."

There was a pause filled with ragged breathing and anticipation before the next strike. Nine. Tom's hand struck in the same place - one not designed to cause pain, and pain was the last thing on Harry's mind. His eyes were watering, his breath catching in his throat, and his backside tingled with heat. He knew there was a layer of cotton between him and Tom's hand, but he didn't feel that; he was sure it had melted away. The tenth slap was gentler, confusingly so, almost as if Tom's strength was failing, but the contrast had Harry jolting in surprise, pressing against the hard thigh at his groin, then closing his eyes in shameful arousal.

Tom's breaths were coming ever less regularly, his voice shuddering. "You're my only…"

Eleven was a harder strike than any of its predecessors, and Harry groaned, beyond trying to hide his reaction.

"… possible…" Twelve followed immediately - a hard slap to the fleshiest part of his backside, pushing him forward and his arousal into Tom's thigh. He whimpered when that slap was immediately soothed by Tom's palm resting on its exact location. "... salvation," whispered Tom in a broken, husky voice.

And Harry sighed as the palm of Tom's hand petted his sore flesh ever so gently through the cotton. He was achingly hard, suddenly felt terribly exposed, but he felt Tom equally hard against his stomach. Tom's words were threatening to undo him altogether. Scrambling backwards off the other boy's lap to kneel on the floor next to his chair, he looked up at Tom, who was panting and staring at him with such an intense expression that Harry hurried to stand and do up his trousers. He turned away while he did so, wincing at the discomfort which had nothing to do with his only slightly sore behind.

Tom didn't try to stop him. He hadn't taken advantage of Harry's submissive position. And now he merely watched him, breathing hard, his cheeks flushed and his eyes dark. "Did you learn your lesson?" he whispered. When Harry merely looked at him, he frowned. "Will you never risk your life again?"

Harry shook his head. His voice was firm when he said, "I won't promise that, Tom. I won't abandon anyone who needs my help, wizard or muggle; to feel I've done so would be worse than death."

"I don't _understand_ that, Harry," Tom said, his eyes wide and confused, sounding so hopelessly out of his depth that it tugged at Harry's heart.

"I know." Harry took Tom's hands and pulled him to his feet, then leaned in and pressed his lips to Tom's, the tenderness of his kiss in direct contrast to the firmness and finality of his earlier words. "I'll teach you," he whispered against his lips. "You have a brilliant mind, Tom. You know so much, and you always want to know more. There's nothing you can't learn. Even this."

Tom's hands cupped Harry's face, and Harry could feel that they were trembling. Tom kissed him deeply, almost desperately, but with a tenderness that left Harry shaking. "Why did you let me punish you if you feel you've done nothing wrong? You know I would have stopped any time."

"Yes, I know." Harry smirked in a way that took Tom's breath away. "I'll go and get our snake, and we'll get him settled in here, okay? Won't be long."

He hurried from the room, ran down the corridor, and into the closest bathroom, where he fell back against the inside of the door, breathing hard. Fumbling his trouser buttons open, Harry sank down to his knees, not even taking the time to push down his clothes properly before shoving his hand between the folds of fabric. Sliding it inside the hot, damp cotton, he sighed at the first touch of his sweaty palm to his bare flesh.

He closed his eyes, and all he could see was Tom. He replayed Tom's punishment before his mind's eye, his dominance, his bone-melting kiss, his tenderness... It seemed to take mere seconds and very few strokes before he came hard, groaning, to a vision of Tom's hand replacing his own and Tom's voice whispering in his ear how much he needed him.


	16. Love is the Sweetest Thing

From here on in, this story is acquiring a soundtrack. There's dancing in this chapter, to period-authentic songs (1942 or earlier) well worth seeking out; I love that era in music! If you want to hear what exactly Harry and Tom are dancing to, I found you some YouTube links:  
["Love is the sweetest Thing" - Ray Noble & His Orchestra, vocals by Al Bowlly](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wWQU6Vk12Xc)  
["Guilty" - Ray Noble & His Orchestra, vocals by Al Bowlly](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3pUGSBpaa8k)  
["Easy to Love" - Billie Holiday](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=izaZR89BJBo)  
["That old Black Magic" - Margaret Whiting](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=McNIjUJ7aps)  


* * *

It was amazing, Harry reflected, how little thought he'd given to Quidditch since he'd arrived in 1942. This occurred to him on his way to the Quidditch pitch for the Slytherin versus Ravenclaw match on a crisp, late October afternoon.

He'd been made seeker, unsurprisingly, and while his impressive playing had earned him a lot of sudden interest from his fellow Slytherins, he found he was rather blasé about it. The problem was, of course, Tom - who had no interest whatsoever in Quidditch, considering it a stupid waste of time and barely less barbaric than a mud fight. Harry had insisted that it was fun, and Tom had finally relented and agreed to actually come and watch.

However, an hour into the game, Harry was almost in agreement with Tom. Ravenclaw suffered from a useless seeker and beaters so aggressive that they more often than not overshot their intended targets by a mile, taking chunks out of posts and the corners off stands. The snitch, meanwhile, was nowhere to be seen, and Harry kept himself entertained watching Tom huddled in his coat high up in the stands, looking put out and bored, except when Harry hovered nearby and their eyes met. Minerva and Pansy were sitting next to him, cheering on Slytherin, to the confusion of most of the house.

When the snitch finally made its appearance, Harry had no trouble spotting it. He took off after it, and Ravenclaw's beaters did their best to dislodge him from his broom, but aside from his right knee being grazed by the quaffle, he ran into no trouble at all catching the snitch before the opposing seeker got anywhere near it.

A Slytherin win was declared, and the teams descended to subdued applause, with a handful of students rushing onto the grass. To Harry's horror, Myrtle - who, perhaps not surprisingly, had turned out to be a Slytherin - was running towards him. He was almost used to her 'living' presence by now, as she seemed to constantly hover wherever he went. Tom had been rather annoyed about it to begin with, but as Harry had just shrugged it off, he too had got used to it; in his own time, Harry imagined Myrtle would be considered a groupie. The thought nearly made him laugh out loud.

"Oh Harry, you were brilliant!" she shrieked.

Harry did his best to smile. "Thanks, Myrtle." When his eyes met Tom's over her shoulder, his smile softened into a real one.

"Congratulations, Harry," Tom said, striding past Myrtle to wrap an arm around his shoulder and pull him in for a casual hug, while using the opportunity to whisper into his ear, "Seeing you in all that leather, straddling a broom, almost makes this blasted game worthwhile."

Harry blushed furiously and missed the start of the argument breaking out in front of them.

"Harry's ever so much better than your stupid seeker!" Myrtle was screeching.

One of Ravenclaw's beaters - the rather too muscular and altogether square Olive Hornby - was hissing at her. "He got lucky, Milligan." She glanced at Harry, then turned on Myrtle again. "And I don't know why you bother following him around like a puppy - it's not like he's ever going to give you a second look, you half-blind, stupid, ugly mudblood!"

Myrtle began to howl in a way scarily reminiscent of her undead wailings, and Harry shivered. He saw a few more students and professors, including Slughorn, approaching the scene of the quarrel, and was caught by surprise when Tom almost unnoticeably raised his hand and the Ravenclaw spun around as if yanked back.

"Shut your mouth, Hornby," Tom said quite calmly.

"Who are you defending, Riddle?" Hornby cackled. "Your boyfriend or a mudblood?"

When Tom merely stared at her icily, she backed down, suddenly looking scared. "50 points from Ravenclaw for provoking and insulting fellow students," Tom said. He noticed Harry's smile in the corner of his eye, and added, "And if I hear you hassling Milligan again, there'll be detentions as well."

With this, he turned around and winked at Harry. Leaning close to him, he whispered, "Come see me after you've changed?"

Harry nodded. He grinned as Olive Hornby stalked off towards the changing rooms, huffing angrily, while Myrtle looked after Tom with the kind of misty expression she usually reserved for Harry. He didn't know whether Tom had defended him or Myrtle, or whether it was about being Slytherin, or simply because he knew it would please Harry. But whatever his reason, he had taken the side of a muggleborn against a pureblood, and that was good enough for Harry right then.

* * *

Half an hour later, after a hasty shower, Harry entered Tom's room to find him sitting on the bed. The moon adder was travelling in playful circles around his forearm, which was bare where Tom had pushed up the sleeve of his jumper. Smiling, Harry sat down next to him.

"We still haven't named him, you know," Tom said, resting his hand on Harry's arm and letting the snake crawl across to him.

Realising Tom would rather not talk about what had happened earlier, Harry nodded, "Any ideas?"

"I was thinking about Thoth. The ancient Egyptians worshipped him as the god of the moon and wisdom. Not to mention the arts, writing and astronomy."

Harry raised a surprised brow at Tom. "You're interested in Ancient Egypt?"

Tom nodded. "They were a predominantly magical society, run by wizards."

 _Predominantly_ \- that implied wizards and muggles mixed. With a smile, Harry said, "Big name for a small snake, but why not?"

Tom hissed at Thoth, asking if he was happy with his name, and the snake agreed, "I am honoured my massstersss should give me sssuch an exulted name!"

"Well, that was easy." Harry grinned. He watched Thoth slithering off his arm and towards the nearest bedpost, no doubt to crawl up it in circles, and suddenly realised he was sitting very close to Tom, on his bed, in his private room, with Tom's hand on his arm.

He was about to get up and put some safe distance between them, when Tom pulled him close just as he'd done outside earlier. "I haven't congratulated you properly yet," he murmured, kissing Harry's cheek.

"You kind of have," Harry answered, his eyelids fluttering when Tom's breath caressed his face and stirred a few strands of hair. "Although a victory kiss wouldn't go amiss." He sighed.

"It wouldn't?" Tom asked, and Harry felt him smile against his jaw just before Tom's lips covered his.

The world tilted on its axis, and Harry felt as if he was falling and might never stop. But then he felt the duvet against his back and knew the world hadn't tilted - he had. His eyes flew open just as Tom released his mouth, and he looked up at him breathlessly.

Tom was leaning over him, his fingers caressing Harry's face. "You have such beautiful eyes," he whispered, pulling off Harry's glasses and depositing them behind him somewhere. "Did you know that green is considered the colour of hope and renewal?"

"It is?" Harry grinned. "What about grey?" He wondered why anyone would consider green beautiful next to the velvety grey of Tom's eyes.

"Moody? Uncertain? Dull?" Tom suggested half-jokingly.

"Mysterious," Harry corrected. "Stormy." He smiled softly. "Special."

Tom smiled back, and then he was kissing him again, parting Harry's lips to slide his tongue along Harry's in a slow, sensuous rhythm.

Harry's arms moved around Tom's waist, and he allowed a long leg to slip between his own. He gasped when the roughness of Tom's jumper hardened his nipples through the thin fabric of his shirt.

Tom's left hand moved to the side of his head to play with damp tendrils of hair, and he leaned down to breathe in Harry's freshly showered scent. "You smell beautiful, too," he purred.

Harry sighed contentedly, sliding his leg along the outside of Tom's, allowing Tom to press their hips together. He moaned into Tom's mouth, and felt a shiver run through the taller body covering his.

"Harry," Tom whispered against his lips, then rubbed himself against Harry's groin slowly. "This is what you do to me, Harry."

Harry whimpered. "I know." He felt breathless. "Same here."

"I've never wanted anyone before you." Tom purred, widening the space between Harry's legs with his thigh, then rubbing it against the juncture of his legs until Harry all but whined. "And now I can't think about anything else."

"Soon, Tom," Harry whispered, stroking his hand up and down Tom's arm. "I don't want to be nervous or scared. I want everything to be perfect."

Tom looked down at him, his eyes on fire and his lips swollen from kissing. "It's going to be perfect, Harry. I may not know what I'm doing..." Here they shared a nervous chuckle. "But I'll make it perfect, somehow."

And Harry smiled, because he knew Tom would never stand for anything less.

* * *

Harry hadn't been looking forward to dance lessons. It wasn't that the idea of Tom holding him in his arms was unpleasant - in fact, it was quickly becoming the only thing on his mind. But he knew he had the grace of an elephant, and considering Tom all but sashayed at the best of times, he simply knew he'd end up looking like a clumsy oaf.

So when they finally met the girls in the Room of Requirement - having rejected both Minerva's and Tom's private rooms due to lack of size for the four of them - Harry was on edge. He stared at Minerva next to the huge gramophone, and had an unsettling flashback - or should that be a flash forward - to being taught to dance in his fourth year. By Minerva, no less.

"What should we start with?" Minerva asked, rummaging through her sizeable record collection. "A waltz? Probably the easiest."

"Good idea." Tom, who was dressed in plain black slacks and a black and white pinstriped shirt, was leaning against the table bearing the gramophone, his eyes resting on Harry.

Harry gulped. Tom looked stunning, as always, while he himself hadn't had the good sense to even change out of his school trousers and shirt.

"Relax, Harry." Tom was suddenly in front of him. "Just follow my lead. You can't do anything wrong with a waltz."

"That's what you think," Harry said gloomily, causing everyone to laugh at him. When Tom's arm moved around his waist and he held up Harry's right hand in his left, Harry looked at him and bit his lip. He knew he'd done this before - it was just about all they'd been taught for the Yule Ball; surely he could at least remember this much?

The record started up, and Tom instructed, "Don't watch our feet. Don't count steps. Just look into my eyes." He took his time with Harry, only slowly speeding up their turns, tightening his grip in the back of Harry's shirt to make him step back, and pressing his palm flat to pull him towards himself and forward until Harry got a better feel for the step sequence. It really was quite easy, even Harry had to admit, though looking into Tom's eyes and being in his arms was a constant threat to his concentration. And of course he wasn't the one leading, so everything was backwards.

Pansy and Minerva were waltzing around the room as if they'd never done anything else, apparently determined to use up every inch of available space, while Tom and Harry only gradually widened the area of floor they were using.

"Stop hopping circles around us. It's disconcerting," Harry complained on their next pass.

Pansy laughed out loud. "Oh, stop complaining, Harry. You're doing remarkably well." With a grin at Minerva, she added, "And we're not hopping; don't give us ideas about teaching you a polka!"

The song ended and Minerva scurried to the gramophone. "What's another good beginner's dance?"

"Foxtrot," Tom said.

"Sounds complicated." Harry cringed.

"Not at all." Tom smiled, then turned to the girls. "Why don't you show us; it'll be easier than explaining it."

Minerva nodded and chose a record. Meeting Pansy in the centre of the room, they started dancing in a way that, at first glance, looked rather intricate, but once Harry got his head around it, it seemed to be a very simple sequence of steps.

"Ready?" Tom asked, wrapping his arm around Harry's waist again.

"No," Harry said. "But let's go."

Smiling, Tom took the lead, and after a few hesitant steps and a near miss on Tom's foot, Harry started to get the hang of it. "This isn't bad," he said. Tom looked delighted that Harry was enjoying himself.

"We should do a tango next," Minerva shouted out jokingly, and Pansy laughed.

"Not a chance!" Harry muttered. He'd seen a tango danced in an old movie once, and it completely boggled his mind how people didn't just topple like dominoes, getting their bodies curled around each other like that. When he caught a twinkle in Tom's eye, he blushed, realising with sudden clarity that the curling bodies were probably the appeal of the dance. He made a note not to resist that one too hard.

"Why don't I know any of these songs, Minerva?" Tom asked after a little while of them practising simple step sequences. "They're wonderful."

"Oh, Pansy and I bought some muggle records the other day," she said casually, smirking when Tom's jaw dropped and he nearly missed a step.

"Muggles? Came up with these songs?" he all but gibbered, and Harry tried hard not to laugh out loud. "But… what about this one right now?"

"Oh yes, _That Old Black Magic_." Minerva giggled. "Clever, isn't it?"

"What would they know about it?" Tom asked, trying for disdainful but sounding quite flabbergasted instead.

"Muggles think of magic in abstract terms," Minerva explained. "They use it as a metaphor, because they don't know it as a reality."

"They use it when they refer to love, more often than not," Harry chimed in, blushing when Tom's eyes locked on his. They both gulped and their step sequence got hopelessly muddled.

"They think love is dark magic?" Tom all but whispered, having stopped with his arm tightening almost imperceptibly around Harry.

"I think it's… um, because it can't really be explained," Harry muttered. "It just kind of hits you, doesn't it, and… well, you can't explain it… so it's like magic." How was he supposed to make any sense with Tom looking at him like that?

"Oh." Tom blinked, his fingertips rubbing ever so slightly up and down the curve of Harry's spine. Dancing completely forgotten, they just looked into each other's eyes as if they were quite alone.

The music suddenly changed, jolting them both out of their reverie. Harry glanced across the room, where Minerva stood next to the gramophone with her arms around Pansy from behind, and both of them were watching them with a smile.

Tom started Harry dancing again, with simple, slow steps, and holding him very close, while all four of them listened to the song:

 _Love is the sweetest thing  
What else on earth could ever bring  
Such happiness to ev'rything  
As Love's old story._

 _Love is the strangest thing  
No song of birds upon the wing  
Shall in our hearts more sweetly sing  
Than Love's old story._

 _Whatever hearts may desire  
Whatever life may send  
This is the tale that never will tire.  
This is the song without end._

 _Love is the strongest thing  
The oldest, yet the latest thing  
I only hope that fate may bring  
Love's story to you._

At the end of the song, Harry - feeling rather flustered - tried to glare at the girls, but when Tom's hand moved up his spine to rest warmly between his shoulder blades, and his lips pressed a soft kiss against his temple, a smile got in the way.


	17. Zing! Went the Strings of my Heart

There's just one song in this part, giving the chapter its title. "Zing! Went the Strings of my Heart" has been recorded by many artists. I love the [1935 recording by Lew Stone and His Band](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vdgrTusIYN4) \- it's bouncy and cute and a tad crackly. But there's a [1980s cover by Jimmy Somerville](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-_YK9T0piG0) which is slinky, very romantic, and at least as lovely as the vintage version; and that's not something I say often. And Jimmy Somerville's voice is magical, after all.

* * *

Harry found that the best antidote to the freezing cold descending on the Highlands was dancing with Tom. Once he'd got over his fear of making a fool of himself and started to relax, he actually became quite good at it. Occasionally, they'd dance with the girls to ensure Harry knew how to lead as well. It tended not to work out, and Tom was amusingly gleeful that Harry only danced well with him. Harry felt the same, so from time to time, they'd swap positions, and Harry would lead Tom.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and they were practising the foxtrot again - Harry was becoming a master at it - to the sounds of 'Zing! Went the Strings of my Heart'. Harry was quite sure Minerva and Pansy were going out of their way to find the most hopelessly romantic songs ever written, if only to embarrass him. Or maybe it was just the era? Either way, this time, the girls had snuck out of the room without a word, just after putting on the record.

Tom and Harry danced to it a couple of times; it really was a beautiful song. Step sequences forgotten, they moved closer and closer, until Tom's arms were tightly wrapped around Harry's middle, and he had Harry's head tucked into the crook of his neck.

With a sigh, Harry pressed himself close and shut his eyes, and they simply swayed together. "Dancing isn't so bad," he murmured. He knew Tom was smiling, because he could feel his lips against his skin.

Suddenly, the door flew open, and they jolted apart. It was Minerva, clearly out of breath. "Sorry! So sorry! But…" She beamed. "It's snowing!"

Harry smiled, and tugged a somewhat reluctant Tom after him by the hand. In the corridor outside, Harry hurried to the nearest window to join Pansy and Minerva.

Thick flakes were tumbling down, and clearly had been falling for a couple of hours already. There was a thin layer of snow over the entire landscape, and the castle looked as if it had been dusted with icing sugar.

"Isn't it pretty?" Minerva gasped. "So early this year. If it keeps coming down like this, we'll be able to make snowmen by tomorrow."

Tom snorted. "You're seventeen, Minerva."

"I don't see that it matters." Minerva pouted at him. "And it wouldn't do you any harm to do something silly and completely useless for a change. You're far too serious, Tom."

Tom looked horrified. "Well, I am not building a snowman!"

"What about a snow grump?" Harry suggested, laughingly jumping out of the way when Tom tried to poke him in the ribs. "No! Stop, no! You don't have to, really." He grinned. "But if you don't, you'll still have to watch the three of us having fun."

Tom gave a long-suffering sigh. "Remind me why I indulge these childish fancies of yours, Harry?"

"Because you--" Harry blushed, unable to believe what he'd almost said. He averted his eyes when Tom smirked at him, and tried to tell himself that Pansy and Minerva were grinning because of the snow.

* * *

It continued to snow all evening and throughout the night, and in the morning, right after breakfast, the four of them marched outside wrapped in coats, scarves, gloves and hats - three of them smiling, one looking rather embarrassed.

They weren't the only students lured outside by the weather. There were Hufflepuffs making snow angels, Gryffindors trying to catch snow flakes in their open mouths, and Ravenclaws trying to outdo each other by forming the biggest snowballs possible.

A Gryffindor fourth year stared at them as they traipsed past towards the owlery and shouted out, "Oh look, it's the demonic quartet!" He was instantly silenced by a thick snowball striking him square in the face.

When they looked up ahead, they saw Myrtle descending the owlery stairs with a grin on her face, patting snow from her gloved hands. "Hello," she chirped, passing them with what she probably considered a flirty wink at Tom.

"Hello, Myrtle," Harry called after her, grinning.

Pansy burst out laughing when she saw Tom's face, and Minerva joined in, though it was because of the Gryffindor still spitting out snow and curses. "Demonic quartet?" She gave Pansy a curious look.

"It's the dark hair, dear," Pansy claimed.

They managed to get far enough away from the other students to find a vast, untouched area of snow, and Minerva at once set about shaping her snowman.

Pansy bemoaned her lack of foresight in bringing proper clothes for it, but her request that either Tom or Harry should donate his outer cloak was met with horrified refusals.

Harry, being a good sport, did go in search of snowman accessories, and soon returned with a couple of rocks for eyes and a bundle of thin dead twigs.

"What are they for?" Pansy frowned.

"Nose?" Harry suggested, shrugging.

Pansy shook her head. "You need a carrot or something like that for a nose."

"Well, I don't happen to have a carrot on me." Harry laughed. "Can't you use them for a mouth?"

Minerva took the twigs from his hands and attached them horizontally to the snowman's face. "They're whiskers. It's a snowcat now," she stated, surprised when Harry and Pansy burst out laughing.

Tom watched all this with an indulgent smile and his arms crossed over his chest, but raised no hand to help perpetrate further silliness. And the girls certainly needed no help as a snowball fight broke out between them because Pansy refused to tell Minerva why a snowcat was funny.

Harry suddenly turned to look at him, and there was a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"What?" Tom asked, knowing he was in trouble and retreating a couple of steps.

But Harry was quicker, scooping up a handful of snow and jumping at him to stuff it inside his coat.

Tom made a show of trying to fight him off, hindered by the fact that he was far too pleased about Harry jumping him to put much effort into it. He half-heartedly struggled against Harry.

"You're going to have fun, even if it kills me!" Harry chuckled, managing to unbalance Tom and trip him up. He wasted no time stuffing as much snow under Tom's coat as he could pick up.

Though completely uncomfortable and soggy wet, Tom couldn't help it. He started laughing like he'd never laughed before, and it was such a warm, rich sound, it made Harry pause with his hand raised and snow dropping from it in damp clumps. He fell off Tom, landing on his backside in deep snow, and stared up at him struggling to his feet.

Suddenly, everything crashed down on Harry at once. All the things he'd desperately tried to forget about. He saw Pansy and Minerva chucking snowballs at each other like children, and he thought of Ron and Hermione. And then he thought of that photo he had of his parents, dancing in the snow and laughing, and then the snow and the cold soaking through his clothes made him think of dementors, and he heard his mother's dying scream echo in his head, growing louder and louder as he hadn't heard it in a very long time.

And here he was, playing in the snow and laughing with the future Dark Lord who had turned his life upside down.

Tom, who was desperately fidgeting with the collar of his wool coat, trying to dislodge a wad of damp snow, was laughing as if it was the most wonderful moment of his life. Finally, he gave up on his clothes and helped Harry to his feet, their eyes remaining connected until the distance between them had shrunk down to mere inches, and he was still laughing. His fathomless eyes were alight with joy and without a hint of malice, and his cheeks were rosy from the cold and dimpled from laughing.

Harry swallowed, staring up at Tom, unable to laugh or cry or do anything at all but feel a frightening mixture of happiness and terrible guilt.

Sounding far away, Minerva called out something or other, and Pansy went and tackled her into the snow, and the moment was broken.

Tom looked back over his shoulder at the girls, his laughter mellowing into a warm smile which was Harry's for another moment when he turned back, before it was gone with the sudden realisation that Harry wasn't laughing, wasn't even smiling. "Harry?" he asked worriedly. "What's wrong?"

Harry opened his mouth to explain, but found he couldn't. He turned on his heel and ran. Ran and stumbled as fast as he could through the snow, towards the castle, ignoring everyone he passed.

Once inside, he ran up the stairs, forgetting that he lived in the dungeons, not in Gryffindor tower. He kept running, his footfalls echoing almost loudly enough to let him pretend he'd never heard Tom's concerned voice calling after him, or his warm, happy laughter wash over him.

He found an empty classroom and slammed the door shut behind him. He sank to the floor, wrapped his arms around his knees, and started to shiver.

In his mind, he could still hear his mother's scream, and joining in were the voices of people he knew in the future - Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore, Sirius, Lupin... All of them sounding accusing and disgusted with him for his happiness. For being happy with _Tom_.

He sat there for what seemed like hours, but was probably only a short time. He felt cold and guilty and terribly sad. Was he letting them all down? He couldn't even remember his parents, knew them only from pictures and stories strangers had told him, and they weren't even alive yet. He missed Ron and Hermione, but they had each other, and they were his friends; they shouldn't hate him for being happy. And they, too, didn't exist yet.

And then he thought about Tom, and his heart constricted. Tom _was_ alive. He was so very real. Tom was the first person who'd ever needed Harry for who he was, not what he represented. He didn't make demands of him, or expect him to live up to some myth. Tom, who let no one close, let no one see his weaknesses, had opened up to him and offered him his friendship and trust. Tom, who knew hardly anything about Harry, and what he knew were lies and half-truths - necessary perhaps, but still… Tom believed in him. Wanted him. Needed him.

And Harry knew with sudden, perfect clarity that he needed Tom as well. Because no one had ever made him feel this happy or precious, and no one had ever allowed him to forget about everything dark and bleak in his life. No one had ever taken him at face value, without suspicions or expectations.

He fumbled in his pocket for the miniature crystal ball he carried with him everywhere. It had only ever been a symbol, nothing more, of being able to return to his own time whenever he wanted. He stared at it hard, but no matter how deeply he looked into it, the once clear sphere was now murky and impenetrable.

Harry shivered. No, trying to forget wasn't wrong. No more so than forgiving. It was necessary for his own sanity. And no one in his own time - dead or alive - should have the right to deny him his happiness. He had come here to be the saviour they'd all wanted him to be, and he had the _right_ to dance with Tom, to laugh with him.

He had expected, and been willing, to suffer through changing the past, not to be happy. But what was wrong with him being happy? What was wrong with him… falling terribly in love with Tom - this Tom, who was changing every single day for his sake?

He squeezed the crystal, took a deep breath, raised his arm, and hurled the sphere hard into the opposite wall, where it shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. A slow smile played around his lips, and he began to feel calmer. The scream died away, and the accusing voices in his head diminished to a murmur, then stilled altogether.

And then his eyes widened with the realisation of what he'd done to Tom. He'd turned his back on him and run away without a word of explanation, just as if Tom was the monster he thought himself to be - the monster he might become, if everything went wrong. What had he _done_?

He struggled to his feet, rushed out of the classroom, and ran back the way he'd come. His legs were unsteady and his heart was pounding so hard, he felt dizzy. His progress was much slower than it had been during his shock-fuelled escape earlier. When he ran into Pansy and Minerva on the main stairs, he all but tumbled into their arms.

"Harry! Harry, what's going on?" Pansy asked, looking terrified. "We've been looking everywhere for you!"

"What happened before?" Minerva asked. "We were so worried. And Tom--" She whimpered.

"What about Tom?" Harry stared at her, gripping her shoulders. "Where is he?"

Minerva sighed. "We don't know. He just watched you run away, looking really sad like, and then he said something about disappointing you, and that there was something he had to do."

The blood turned to ice in Harry's veins, and he fell rather than sat down on the steps. He couldn't feel Pansy's arm around him, or Minerva patting his hand, telling him that whatever Tom might have said or done, everything would be all right. He felt numb, and disappointed that even Minerva assumed whatever had happened must have been Tom's fault.

"Tom hasn't done anything," he said brokenly. "I have."


	18. Home

They spent hours looking for Tom - first all over the castle, and then outside. Minerva wanted to inform Dippet, or at least Slughorn, but Harry was determined that he had to be the one to find Tom. He cursed himself for not bringing the Marauder's Map with him.

"You need a rest, Harry," Pansy said worriedly on the way back from the Quidditch pitch. "Let's go inside and get a snack, and then we'll keep searching."

Harry shook his head. "You two go and rest, but I won't until I've found him."

Pansy sighed, sharing a glance with Minerva. They both knew Harry was half-crazy with worry for Tom. Though Pansy knew that Harry's fears were more complex.

"We've looked everywhere." Minerva sighed. "Tom knows places in the castle no one else has any idea about." They were all too aware of that. "If he doesn't want to be found…"

"Could we split up and search separately again?" Harry rasped, his throat dry from exhaustion and dehydration. "We cover more ground that way." He absently rubbed his scar. "Please."

Minerva agreed, and offered to search the outer towers of the castle and the immediate surroundings again, while Pansy would search the main building. Harry would continue outside.

As soon as Minerva had left, Pansy said, "You're worried that he might be opening the Chamber of Secrets right now."

Harry stared at her, looking completely miserable. "I don't know. I hope not. I _think_ not. But I can't check without opening it myself, can I?"

Pansy sighed. "Why did you run away, Harry?" There was no accusation in her voice, only sympathy.

"I panicked," Harry admitted. "He looked so happy, and I was happy, and suddenly, being that happy with Tom seemed wrong and unfair to everyone in the future." He leaned against a lone tree. "But then, even _thinking_ of not being with him hurt more than anything, and I couldn't bear to imagine it at all." He paused, then took a deep breath. "Pansy, are you planning on ever going back?"

She didn't look at him when she answered. "No, Harry. I never intended to. There's nothing for me where we came from, either way. And now… I won't leave Minnie." She was smiling wistfully. "And I love it here. Even if what we came for doesn't work out, there's still 'some' life here for me and a chance at happiness."

Harry nodded, staring off into the distance. "I thought you might say something like that."

"What about you? If anything goes wrong," Pansy said cautiously. "With Tom. Will you want to go back? To your friends? Because I'll help you to do that, if you really want."

Harry stared at her, his eyes dark-rimmed from exhaustion and worry, and his lips chapped from the cold. "No," he said. "I'm not going back either." When Pansy smiled a little, he said, "I miss Ron and Hermione. But I would miss Tom more than anyone else I've ever known." His voice cracked with emotion, and he averted his eyes.

Pansy moved forward and pulled him into a hug, and he hugged her back. "Let's keep searching," she said, squeezing Harry's arms as she let go of him. "We'll find him, Harry. He's far too mad about you already to do anything rash."

"I hope you're right." Harry smiled humourlessly.

* * *

Another hour had gone by, and Harry was close to losing all feeling in his limbs; it was getting darker and colder all the time, and even the hardiest of students had long since disappeared back into the warmth of the castle.

As far as Harry could tell, they'd searched everywhere from the deepest dungeons to the top of the Astronomy Tower. Everywhere sensible. But Tom wouldn't go anywhere sensible if he didn't want to be found, would he? Harry thought hard. Tom had said there was something he had to do. The diary? He could be anywhere with that. The Chamber couldn't be searched. Something to do with the basilisk? Some other creature? Creatures… the Forbidden Forest!

Harry, drawing on every last energy reserve in his body, started running towards the looming outlines of the trees against the quickly darkening sky. It would be nightfall soon, and if he couldn't find Tom by then, he'd have to go back to the castle for a lantern; his wand would never do.

By the time he neared the edge of the forest, he was almost snow-blind and beginning to see random shapes and movements. Or was he? He blinked, then blinked again, and decided he wasn't imagining a familiar shape separating from the dark backdrop of trees. And the shape was staggering towards him.

Harry sped up, his heart pounding and his throat constricting; nausea roiled in his stomach the closer he got to Tom - and it definitely was Tom - because the boy was grinning maniacally, and he was covered in streaks of fresh blood.   
Harry stopped dead, desperation and a sense of futility halting his legs and causing his muscles to seize up.

"Harry!" Tom was struggling towards him through the knee-deep snow.

That's when Harry saw that Tom's clothes were torn and ragged. "Tom?" He swallowed, cautiously moving closer. "Tom… did you… did you… hurt… anything?" He was nearly frozen in fear at the likely answer to that.

Tom looked at him in confusion. "Did I…? What? Harry!" He gave a sharp bark of laughter. "Thanks for your concern, Harry. I'm touched. But if you must know…" He rubbed the back of his hand over his blood-stained cheek, making matters worse and looking at his hand in utter disgust. "Something hurt me, and rather badly. Bloody centaurs - all I wanted was some information."

Harry's throat opened and his lungs bloomed back to life, and then he was gasping in breaths and running towards Tom.

Tom had no chance to brace himself before Harry threw his full weight at him, wrapping his arms around him and holding on tight even as they fell into the snow - Tom on his back, with Harry landing heavily on top of him.

"Oh Tom!" Harry croaked. "Tom! I'm so glad." He didn't care that he was getting covered in blood, or that Tom was whimpering in pain and snorting in disbelief at Harry's relief that he was hurt. Of course, Tom had no way of knowing that it wasn't just his body, but his soul, Harry had been worried about.

All Harry cared about at that moment was that he hadn't lost Tom to the dark. Not yet. Not today. He peppered Tom's face with kisses, then hugged him tight, and finally, Tom's arms wrapped around him tightly, and they lay in the freezing cold like that, holding on to each other, until Harry sneezed very loudly against Tom's ear.

Tom shivered. "You're like ice," he grunted. "And you have a cold."

"You're the one who was outside all day after I got you soaking wet." Harry raised himself up on his gloved hands and looked down at Tom. "I was so worried about you!"

Tom's face lit up, despite his discomfort. "You were?"

"I was worried sick," Harry clarified. "And I'm so, so sorry I ran away from you."

Tom swallowed, a slight frown between his brows. "Why did you, Harry? I was trying so hard." Harry blinked in confusion, but Tom was already continuing. "I'm sorry I'm not much fun. I'm sorry I've never had any inclination to build snowmen, or play Quidditch, or do silly, useless things like Minerva said, just for the sake of doing them. I'm sorry I study too much, and that I'm bad-tempered and grumpy and unkind and take everything too seriously, and--"

"Tom!" Harry stopped the flow of words, his heart constricting. He smiled, even as an annoying tear was crawling from the corner of his eye. "Shut up," he said softly, then cupped Tom's face between his gloved hands and kissed him as tenderly as he knew how.

Tom whimpered into his mouth and crushed Harry close. They kissed until the combination of the cold dampness soaking into their clothes and the lack of oxygen left them gasping in discomfort.

"Let's go inside," Harry pleaded, scrambling to his feet and pulling Tom up. "You need to go to the hospital wing, and then we have to find Minerva and Pansy, because they're sick with worry as well."

"They are?" Tom asked, sounding honestly surprised.

Harry stared at him, dumbfounded. "You idiot," he said softly. "People care about you, and you might as well get used to it! I would have jumped from the bloody Astronomy Tower if something had happened to you because of me!"

Tom gasped. "Harry!"

"That's if Minerva wouldn't push me off first." Harry sighed. "Look, it was all my fault. Everything was suddenly overwhelming, and I felt _too_ happy, and I'm not used to that. It scared me, and I panicked, because I'm an idiot. And I'm more sorry than I can say that I ran away like that without a word." He took Tom's freezing, bare hands in his, frowned at them and stripped off his own gloves to put them on Tom's hands. He looked into grey eyes blurred with emotion. "I'll never do anything like that again. I promise."

When Tom gulped, unable to think of anything to say, Harry smiled at him. "Let's get those injuries of yours seen to. On the way, you can tell me what happened with the centaurs."

While they struggled towards the castle, hand in hand and not caring if anyone mad enough to be out in the early evening chill should see them, Tom told Harry that he and Thoth had come up with an idea to surprise him. Something 'silly and fun', apparently, but magically rather complicated, and that the centaurs had seemed the best bet to help with the details. Tom had managed to talk to one of them and get some help, but the rest of the herd had been less obliging and had driven him from the forest rather forcefully.

"I demand to be shown that surprise," Harry said just as they arrived at the entrance to the castle. "And it had better be worth you getting injured."

Tom stopped dead. "You really _do_ care about me," he gasped in amazement.

Harry blushed, wiping his runny nose. "Yes, I do. Very much so."

"Oh Harry, I…" Tom swallowed. He opened his mouth to say more, but closed it again. He pulled Harry into his arms and hugged him as hard as his numb limbs allowed. "Just knowing that is well worth a few injuries."

* * *

The rosy-cheeked Miss Vervain running the hospital wing fixed Tom up with some healing spells and a large dose of pepper-up potion and, at his insistence, gave Harry a double dose of the potion for his rather nasty chill. "I ought to report your injuries to Professor Slughorn, Mr Riddle." She frowned.

"We strayed into the forest by mistake, ma'am," Tom assured her. "Really, no one is to blame." He gave her his most charming smile, and of course, she relented.

"Well, all right. But I suspect the both of you will be coming down with colds, pepper-up or not. You'll be lucky if you don't catch pneumonia." She swirled her wand about, checking their temperatures again. "Really, one might think the two of you have spent all day mucking about in the snow. Get some food and hot lemon tea with cinnamon from the kitchens, and then go straight to bed, both of you."

"Yes, Miss Vervain," Harry quickly agreed, before she could decide they ought to stay in the hospital wing instead.

"Thank you, Miss Vervain." Tom pulled his torn clothes around himself, shivering. "We'll do that."

* * *

They found Pansy and Minerva in a corridor near the main staircase, where they'd just met up again. Both girls hugged Tom while telling him off in no uncertain terms for scaring them silly - he looked confused and flustered, because he hadn't quite believe they really had been worried.

Then Harry dragged him down to the kitchens, where they had the house elves make them some sandwiches and hot tea.

"Let's pretend to go to bed early," Tom suggested on the way to the dorm. He was levitating a tray of food and steaming lemon tea in front of him.

"Pretend?" Harry asked, biting into an apple he'd nicked off a fruit platter in the kitchens.

Tom smirked mischievously, and Harry's heart felt light as a feather. They were back to normal. "You wanted me to show you my surprise."

"Yes, I do." Harry grinned. "What does it involve?"

"To begin with, it involves us making the rest of the dorm think we're asleep there, while we are in fact in my room."

Harry blushed. "You want me to sleep in your room?"

Tom lowered his eyes almost coyly. "Well yes, I do. But I didn’t mean it like that. I want to show you this somewhere private." When he met Harry's wide eyes, he quickly said, "Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything naughty to you." He smiled. "Unless you ask me to."

Harry nearly suffocated on his apple, coughing and spluttering.

Tom chuckled, patting him between his shoulder blades. "I'm sorry," he said, but Harry thought he really didn't look sorry at all.

"Tom, what are you going to show me?" Harry managed to ask, smirking.

"Celestial magic," Tom said proudly.


	19. Celestial Magic

I've added an Underage warning after all. This gets rather explicit, rather more quickly, than even I remembered. Oops.

* * *

Harry was intrigued, pleading with Tom all the way to the dorm to tell him how he was going to do something celestial in a tiny room below the Black Lake, but Tom merely smiled secretively and went about closing their bed curtains and placing various charms around them to divert people's attention; no one would even approach them until Tom removed the charms.

Still freezing and dirty, they decided to have quick showers - Harry in the dorm's bathroom, Tom in his own so he could prepare his room.

When Harry got there twenty minutes later, dressed in flannel pyjamas, a bathrobe, and his invisibility cloak, the room was completely dark except for a warm glow from the lit woodstove and a single candle on the bedside table. He dropped the invisibility cloak and felt a tingle of nervous excitement as he watched Tom walking towards him on bare feet, wearing black pyjamas and a predatory smile. But he closed and locked the door firmly behind him and returned his smile.

"I've kept the tea hot and the sandwiches cold," Tom said. "But we'd better have them soon."

"Okay," Harry whispered, not sure why he was whispering. He noticed the tray on the bedside table.

Tom took his hand and pulled him towards the bed, where he elegantly settled against the headboard, one leg curled under his body, and patted the space next to him.

Harry, vividly remembering what had occurred the last time he'd been on Tom's bed, blushed, but climbed up and settled back against the thick pillow Tom had fluffed up for him.

"Let's eat first, then I'll show you." Tom smiled when Harry picked up his mug of tea in trembling fingers. "Are you nervous?"

"No. Why would I be?" Harry was glad his blush wouldn't be visible in the near dark. But his voice betrayed him, and Tom laughed softly. The sound sent a warm shiver down Harry's spine. He finished his tea as quickly as possible, intermittently chewing on his sandwich, while Tom joined him in silence, glancing at him occasionally.

Once they were done eating and having their tea, and Tom had vanished the dishes, he raised his hand and, with a quick wrist movement, the bed curtains swung shut around them with a soft swish.

Harry gasped, his heart rate doubling in an instant. With no light except for a faint glow from the fire and an even fainter one from the candle - both on the other side of the green curtains, he was very, very aware of Tom right next to him, warm from his shower and smelling of herbal soap.

"Lean back against the pillow, Harry," Tom instructed softly. "And look up."

Harry shifted until he lay at an angle on the huge pillow with his head tipped back. His nose was blocked - he really was getting a cold, but not lying down completely allowed him to breathe more easily. "What happens now?"

"You know the charm on the ceiling of the Great Hall?" Tom asked. When Harry made an affirmative noise, not taking his eyes off the canopy, he continued, "It's supposed to be a Hogwarts secret, but I know how it's done now, and I can do it anywhere." He raised his wand and spoke a soft incantation, and the fabric above and around the bed morphed into a clear, crisp winter sky filled with stars, surrounding them entirely. It was as if they were floating in space on a flying bed.

Harry gasped. "That's beautiful!"

"It's the sky above the Black Lake right now. Watch this." Another wand movement, and a similar spell, and the stars disappeared while the sky began to move in soft, flowing waves, emitting a faint green light. "And that's the lake itself all around us."

"That's a bit spooky," Harry said with a chuckle. It was, all that water apparently hovering in the air above and around them.

"Do you prefer the sky?"

When Harry nodded, Tom changed the view again. "I can make things appear that aren't really there, as well."

Harry shivered, thinking of the Dark Mark. "No, don't. I prefer it as it is."

"Not even this?" Tom murmured something, and a shooting star crossed the sky in an arc. "Make a wish, Harry."

Harry did, then met Tom's eyes. "Will it come true if the star's not real?"

"If you want it to very, very much, maybe it will." Tom looked deep into his eyes, his own as dark and velvety as the sky around them.

Harry smiled, and looked up again, and snow began to sparsely fall down to within three feet of their heads, where it disappeared.

"I'm not doing that," Tom said. "It must be snowing again outside."

Harry reached up towards it. It wasn't real, of course, but he smiled when the charmed snowflakes sparkled out of existence around his hands. Tom watched him with a pleased smile, lying on his side next to Harry. When Harry turned to face him, his eyes alight in the starlight, Tom swallowed.

"Thank you," Harry said softly. "For showing me this."

Tom covered Harry's hand on the pillow and traced his fingers over Harry's knuckles. "Worth a few scrapes?"

"It's beautiful." Harry sighed. "But nothing is worth you getting hurt."

Tom's throat constricted. "Why is it..." He began, sounding a big croaky. "That you care about me? No one ever has. In fact, I'm quite certain anyone who's ever met me, with the possible exception of Minerva, would be pleased to see me hurt." He smiled a joyless smile. "I've never been someone to inspire loyalty. Or concern. But here you are, Harry, and you…"

Harry turned his hand under Tom's and interlaced their fingers. "I do," he simply said.

"Why?" It was barely more than a whisper.

Harry thought hard about his answer. "To how many have you shown loyalty and concern before really knowing anything about them?"

Tom stiffened, but Harry leaned down to rest his cheek on their joined hands, and he relaxed again. "No one," Tom admitted reluctantly.

"But you have to me. From the day I arrived," Harry said. "You didn't know who I was, or where I came from." He took a deep breath. "Tom, am I a pureblood?"

"I… don't know," Tom said, surprised. "I just assumed."

"I'm a halfblood, Tom. Does it matter?"

"You're _you_ , Harry!" Tom actually sounded offended by the suggestion that it might matter. It made Harry smile. "I feel as if…" Tom bit his lip. "I _know_ that you make me whole, because you have all the things I've never had - a heart, kindness, generosity… mercy. I've always thought of them as weaknesses, but I see them in you, and I don't seem able to think that way anymore. You're stronger than anyone I know."

Harry turned his face and pressed his lips to the back of Tom's hand. "Am I really that important to you?" he asked, knowing he sounded breathless.

"So important," Tom whispered, leaning in to press a kiss into Harry's hair.

Harry tilted his head to the side, and Tom's lips moved down to the side of his neck, where he kissed and nipped at the sensitive flesh. The tip of his tongue licked slow, whispery trails of moisture across Harry's skin, and he blew cool breath over them to make him shiver.

"How can you say you don't have a heart," Harry whispered. "When you can be so gentle."

"Maybe I'm sharing yours?" Tom suggested huskily. "It's probably big enough for two."

Harry smiled softly. "You're welcome to it." Tom raised his head and looked at him with wide eyes, and Harry realised what he'd implied. And that he meant it. He wrapped his arm around Tom's neck and pulled himself close to kiss him.

Tom's lips seemed softer and sweeter than ever before, and Harry knew how easily he might have lost this after today. Without interrupting the kiss, he touched Tom's face, and the corner of his mouth, to make sure he was real. When the tip of his index finger touched the edge of Tom's lower lip, Tom opened his mouth ever so slightly, leaving Harry's gaping open and breathless, while he sucked his fingertip inside.

Harry shivered. He tried to kiss Tom like that and, not succeeding, slipped his tongue past his own finger.

Tom groaned, letting Harry's finger slide from his mouth to caress his tongue with his own. Their noses were a little blocked, and they had to breathe soon, but Tom rested his own thumb on the centre of Harry's mouth, keeping it open.

Harry sucked this thumb inside while Tom pressed kisses to his forehead, lingering on his scar and making him moan, before moving to his cheek and the tip of his nose. Then he pulled his thumb from the warm softness of Harry's mouth, smiling at the mewl of displeasure, before filling the space with his tongue again.

Harry wrapped his arm around Tom's waist, clutching the cotton of his pyjamas in his fist, and rocked against him without interrupting the kiss.

The chill from being out in the snow for hours fresh in his memory, Tom shivered to have Harry's warmth so near. There to be touched, but for a thin layer of cotton. He cautiously rubbed his hand up and down Harry's side, moved it to his hip and, when Harry didn't complain, slid it up under his pyjama top to rest on warm skin.

Harry stilled, drawing his hand away from Tom's back.

Tom was about to curse himself, when Harry's hand covered Tom's on his ribs. Tom raised himself on his elbow, looking deep into Harry's eyes, while he used their joined hands to slide the soft cotton upwards, revealing Harry's bare torso. "Don't let me do anything you don't want," he whispered.

Harry nodded, letting go of Tom's hand and resting his own on the pillow above his head in a gesture of surrender.

Tom's heart skipped at the sight, and he began to slip one button after the other out of their buttonholes, working his way up until the cotton fell away from Harry's chest. He heard and saw Harry drawing deep, raspy breaths, and when he stroked his hand up across his chest, the edge of a smooth nail not quite tugging at a peaked nipple, Harry caught his breath and held it. Tom leaned down and kissed the centre of his stomach, trailed his tongue up over ribs and smooth skin, and then soothed the perked flesh he'd almost scraped.

"Tom!" Harry arched up, his nipple slipping between Tom's lips where it was suckled and soothed until he fell back to the mattress, shuddering.

Tom smirked, his tongue sweeping across Harry's chest in bolder strokes now, and his fingertips flew across soft and hard flesh in turns, soothing one and setting the other on fire. "You blush everywhere I touch you, Harry," he murmured. "You're so beautiful."

Harry whimpered, shifted, and when his pyjama bottoms slipped ever so slightly down, revealing the clean line of his hipbone, Tom held his breath, mesmerised by the sight. Harry looked at him when his ministrations paused, and watched as Tom trailed his fingertips along the smooth skin of his hip, making no effort to draw the fabric further down than it had slipped by accident.

Harry gulped, and shifted carefully just so, and an extra inch of skin was revealed. He smiled when Tom's eyes shot up to meet his, and moaned when Tom lowered his head to press a line of slow, lingering kisses along the length of his hipbone, trailing his fingers in their wake, until he reached his bellybutton. He swirled his tongue across and inside the small indentation, rasping across the thin line of hair leading down from it on each pass, and Harry groaned.

Tom felt him hard against his chest, smelled his arousal warm and musky over the freshness of Harry's just showered skin, and suddenly _wanted_ more than ever before in his life. He looked up to ask Harry's permission, and deep green eyes reflecting sparks of starlight gazed down at him out of a flushed face.

Harry reached down to curl his fingers in Tom's hair, soft and dishevelled already and so very tempting. "Kiss me," he begged, and Tom slid up his body and obliged, devouring Harry's open mouth and suckling on his tongue, the flavours of lemon tea, cinnamon and Harry's desire mingling in his mouth.

Harry's fingers twisted in Tom's pyjamas, moved to his collar to reach the buttons, but were hampered by the thoroughly distracting kiss and the way Tom was rocking against him. His moans alternated with sounds of annoyance when he couldn't reach Tom's skin, and he finally gripped the sides of Tom's pyjama top and tugged.

Tom interrupted the kiss reluctantly, and only long enough for Harry to impatiently pull his top over his head and throw it aside, leaving Tom's hair in curly tangles and his chest bare. "Tom," Harry sighed, wrapping his arms around him and stroking up and down smooth, warm skin, while Tom leaned down again to cover Harry's mouth once more.

They rocked together, Harry's left leg hooked over Tom's hip, and his pyjama pants were riding lower and lower. He smoothed his hands down the elegant line of Tom's naked back until he reached his waistband and pushed it down ever so slightly.

Tom gasped, then arched his neck when Harry's fingertips skimmed the curve of his buttocks.

Harry stared up at Tom - his head thrown back, his lips parted, his skin flushed - and thought he'd never seen anything more beautiful. When Tom's arousal twitched against his own through thin cloth, he almost came. He clutched at Tom, pulled him down, and panted into his bare shoulder. "Touch me," he demanded huskily. " _Please!_ "

"Harry! God, yes," Tom gasped, his hand on Harry's half-uncovered hip sliding between them to cover the swell of his arousal through his pyjamas, but Harry's hand joined his impatiently, fumbling to push the fabric out of the way, and then Harry took Tom's hand and pressed it hard against his bare skin, inhaling sharply at that first touch.

Tom almost came undone right then, staring down at Harry's flushed face and wild eyes, the way his pink lips parted on a gasp when he shifted his hand just slightly, the way his tongue flicked out over chapped, sensitive flesh when he curled his fingers and stroked. "Perfect," he whispered. "You're completely perfect."

Harry stared at him, knew he wouldn't last another minute, and shoved impatiently at the cotton of Tom's pyjamas until they slid down over his hips, and then he could _feel_ him. He almost screamed Tom's name.

Tom uncurled his fingers, raised Harry's hands above his head to press them into the pillow, and began to rock against him in earnest.

Harry stared into Tom's eyes, his own wide and feverish, his lips parted, blood racing through his veins, his head pounding, but the friction was perfect - hard and smooth at once, raspy and warm and sticky, and he kept gasping, "Tom!" and "More!" and "Yes! Yes! _Yes!_ "

He mirrored each of Tom's shifts and undulations and thrusts, in perfect sync, just the way they danced, and with a groan and a shudder, Tom came, setting Harry off as well, and they stayed on a knife edge of pleasure together until their movements slowed and ebbed, and Tom collapsed against him, stroking Harry's hair with both hands, nuzzling his cheek and the side of his neck - too hot and dry - and whispering nonsense and endearments and thank-yous.

Harry was smiling. No, beaming. He was sure he shouldn't be feeling this exhausted or hot, and he should be able to breathe properly, but he didn't care, and everything was perfect, and he held Tom close as he slowly drifted into a doze.

Tom smiled down at Harry's flushed, sleepy face, trailing his fingers across his forehead. He frowned. "You have a fever." Harry mumbled something in response, sounding nasal. "I'm sorry," Tom sighed.

"M'not," Harry returned. He snuggled into Tom's arms, not caring that they were both sticky. "I feel wonderful, and so do you."

Tom smiled. "That may well be, but you are sick. I'll just have to take care of you, won't I?" He cast scourgify over them both, then whispered a healing spell over Harry's body and a cooling charm across his face.

"Hm." Harry nestled in his arms, much more comfortable. "Love you, you know."

Tom's eyes widened, his heart racing. "Harry!" he gasped.

But Harry had drifted into sleep, and Tom wondered whether he too had a fever and had imagined Harry's words into existence, because he didn't think fake shooting stars really could make wishes come true. Then again, maybe they could, and Harry would repeat his words with a clear head once he was better.

Tom held Harry close, pulled the duvet up to their chins, and fell asleep smiling.


	20. The Riddle Cure

"Ow!" Harry moaned pitifully, shielding his eyes from the piercing winter morning sun by burying his face in the comfortable warmth of his human pillow. _Tom_ , he thought with a hazy smile, snuggling closer and feeling instantly soothed.

Tom, woken up by Harry's moan, cursed under his breath and reached for his wand, careful not to dislodge the boy in his arms. "Finite incantatem!" Blessed darkness fell around them inside the closed bed curtains. "Sorry, I never thought," he whispered.

Harry murmured something against his chest while his head burned the side of Tom's neck.

"Oh Merlin, that's right. You've got a fever," Tom said, shifting Harry onto his back to look at him. Without the enchanted sky, it was of course too dark - the candle and the wood stove had long burned out, and he used his wand to light up the small space around them. Harry looked flushed, and his hair stuck to his temples damply. His entire body felt on fire. "I should take you to the hospital wing," Tom said worriedly.

"No, want to stay with you." Harry felt too leaden to lift his arms and pull Tom close, but his eyes pleaded with him.

Tom leaned down to press a soft kiss to Harry's dry lips and, completely overwhelmed by having had Harry in his arms like that all night, had to force himself to end it quickly. "I'll have to get some potions at least and let Professor Slughorn know you can't go to classes."

Harry smiled, even though he looked to be in some discomfort. "And that I'm staying here, so you can take care of me."

"You remember me saying that?" Tom asked, surprised, and then immediately wondered whether Harry perhaps remembered his own words to him after that as well. No, it would be too much to hope for.

"Yes, I do," Harry confirmed sleepily, sighing when Tom brushed his hair back from his temples and his cool lips soothed the burning skin there. When Tom suddenly stopped, his fingers holding a bang of hair back and staring at Harry's forehead while holding his lit wand closer, Harry muttered, "What?"

"Did you know your scar has faded quite a bit?" Tom traced it experimentally, causing Harry to shiver. "When did that happen? I hadn't noticed."

"A little while ago. Few weeks, I think." Harry couldn’t care less about his scar at that moment, moaning in discomfort when Tom removed his hand from his head.

"I'm sorry. It's not important right now." Tom reluctantly scrambled out of bed. "Go back to sleep, Harry, I'll sort out everything."

Harry murmured agreement, hugged the pillow smelling of Tom, and dozed off again.

Tom watched him for a moment, a foolish smile on his face, then shook himself out of his reverie and got ready.

* * *

The morning passed in a blur for Harry, always halfway between awake and asleep, burning hot whenever Tom wasn't there, and pleasantly spell-cooled and soothed when he came to sit with him between classes, making sure he was taking the potions as needed and drinking lots of water and pumpkin juice.

After classes were over for the day, Harry was woken up by Tom coming into the room with Slughorn in tow, the older wizard looking concerned. "I've taken the liberty of settling Harry in here for the moment, professor. He'll be more comfortable without noise around, and the rest of the dorm won't catch his flu," Tom explained reasonably.

Harry thought he noticed a spare bed across the room, and couldn't quite suppress a smile, wondering when Tom had made that appear.

Slughorn hovered beside Harry. "Yes, yes, Tom. That's very thoughtful of you." He leaned down a bit. "Harry, are you all right here? You don't want to go to the hospital wing?"

"No, m'fine," Harry murmured. "Don't want to move."

"Very well. I'm sure you'll be back to normal quite soon, Harry. I'll look in on you again tomorrow perhaps." When Harry nodded into the pillow, Slughorn retreated. "Tom, I trust you to know when to speak to Miss Vervain. Harry should be better in a day or two."

Tom, surprised at the notion of being trusted, let alone with another's wellbeing, nodded. "Of course, professor."

When they were alone again, the first thing he did was to turn the spare bed back into the woodstove and light it, and the second was to sit on the bed beside Harry and take one of his warm, dry hands in his. "I suppose you must trust me as well…" he murmured thoughfully, more to himself than to Harry.

"Course I do," Harry croaked, returning the pressure of Tom's hand. He smiled at his pleased expression and then promptly dozed off again.

* * *

That evening, Minerva and Pansy came by for a visit, and because Tom had spent the afternoon filling him up with water and potions, cooling him down with spells, wet cloths and soothing hands, and feeding him chicken soup, Harry felt lucid enough to be glad to see them.

"Oh, bother," Minerva said when she settled at the edge of the bed. "No wonder you're sick, poor thing. All that cold and wet yesterday."

Pansy sat on the opposite edge of the mattress, looking down at him fondly. "I hope Tom's looking after you well." Turning to the other boy, she added, "If I hear complaints about bedside manner, I'll hex you. Just so you know."

Harry laughed, which ended in a coughing fit. Tom was by his side with a glass of water in an instant, pulling him upright and fluffing the pillow behind his back while Harry drank, and Harry smiled at him. "No complaints about that at all."

Tom returned his smile and threw a gloating look back over his shoulder at Pansy.

Minerva sighed. "It's not fair, is it, Tom? You've finally got him in your bed, and he's on fire for all the wrong reasons."

Pansy giggled, while not only Harry, but Tom as well, blushed.

"Oh." Minerva went a little pink herself, and Pansy's giggles turned into snorts of laughter. "No need to ask how he came by his fever then, I suppose."

After enduring a fair bit more teasing, Harry finally pleaded his invalid status and hid under the duvet, while Tom ushered the girls from the room, throwing a mock glare at Pansy when she instructed him to not over-exhaust Harry, no matter how tempted he might be.

Minerva dragged her away, promising - or rather, threatening - that they'd be back the next day with some nice fresh flowers and a bucket of ice water.

With a sigh, Tom shut the door behind them, and chuckled when he saw Harry sitting up in bed again, flushed with more than a raised temperature. "I'm going to check this room for bewitched, long-distance omniculars," Tom said. "I don't trust those two."

Harry smiled, holding his hand out, and Tom joined him on the bed. "I wish I was up to putting on a show worth spying on."

Tom smirked. "I'll remind you of that when you're better."

"I'll need no reminding," Harry said, leaning in to kiss Tom, but then drawing back. "I shouldn't, really. I might give you this bloody cold."

"See if I care," Tom said, pulling Harry into his arms and kissing him until he was wheezing.

* * *

By the next day, Harry was feeling a lot better, but considered pretending otherwise when Slughorn came by for his afternoon visit. He wanted to be allowed to stay in Tom's room another night - he couldn't imagine being able to sleep again without Tom's arms around him. But he realised if he did pretend, he might end up in the hospital wing instead, and that wasn't appealing at all.

"Looks like our Tom here makes an excellent nurse," Slughorn declared, sounding surprised but cheerful when Harry assured him he was on the mend. He didn't see Tom's horrified expression behind his back.

Harry, on the other hand, couldn't contain a chuckle. "Yes, he does." Tom's eyes narrowed in mock threat, and Harry shivered even while he was shocked by his own reaction.

Slughorn noticed the shiver. "Not quite right again yet, eh? If Tom isn't too inconvenienced by your taking up his bed, Harry, I suppose you should keep out of the dorm another night?" He turned to look at Tom, who had schooled his features back into perfect blandness, nodding his agreement.

"No inconvenience at all, sir."

Slughorn rose, wished Harry a speedy recovery, and saw himself out, just in time before Harry burst into giggles.

* * *

After one of Tom's trademark magical sponge baths, a hearty dinner, and a large pot of tea, Harry - wearing a slightly too long pair of Tom's pyjamas - was firmly ensconced in Tom's arms, leaning back against him on the bed and sighing. "I might have to get sick on a regular basis. I've never felt so content."

Tom frowned. "Don't you dare."

Harry turned his head to look at Tom from the corner of his eye. "Sorry. But you really know how to make me feel good."

Tom's frown smoothed out, and he smiled. "Would you like me to make you feel even better?" Harry's heart started pounding immediately, excitement evident in his flushed face and heavy breathing. "Unless you're not well enough yet, of course," Tom teased.

"I'm perfectly well, thanks."

Tom chuckled, pulling Harry back against himself to nuzzle the nape of his neck. "You're so warm," he murmured against the soft skin. "Not feverish anymore, just… very cosy. And you smell sleepy."

"That's because I've hardly left your bed in days." Harry closed his eyes in bliss.

"I like the way that sounds," Tom said huskily, kissing the soft skin behind Harry's ear, then below it, before flickering his tongue against the lobe and playing with it.

Harry was purring like a kitten by the time Tom stopped tormenting the flushed, sensitive strip of skin. "God, your mouth…"

Tom rested his chin on Harry's shoulder. "One day soon, Harry, I'm going to kiss and taste every part of you until I'm dizzy with you." Harry inhaled sharply at his words, and Tom continued, "I'll have you reeling and going mad from the things my tongue will do to you."

Whimpering, Harry covered Tom's arms around his middle and arched his neck.

Tom pressed his mouth against it. The pulse at the base of Harry's throat fluttered so rapidly, he felt the vibrations against the tender skin of his lips. When Harry tried to turn in his arms, he held him in place, letting one arm slide lower to cover Harry's belly, while the other remained across his chest. "You're not to exhaust yourself yet, remember?"

Harry mewled in protest, but Tom only smirked against his throat and let his hand wander lower, watching its progress towards Harry's lap. Harry stilled and held his breath, his eyes following Tom's hand as well. When his fingertips brushed the joint of hip and thigh, he sighed out a soft, "Yes."

"Yes?" Tom whispered, widening the space between his legs until Harry fitted as snugly against him as possible. His soft moan was echoed by Harry.

" _Oh_ yes."

Tom smiled, his hand caressing the tops of Harry's thighs in teasing circles before dipping into the warm space between them.

Harry parted his legs wider, resting his thighs against Tom's until his borrowed pyjama pants stretched painfully tight over his groin. "I'm not that well yet," he breathed. When Tom was about to draw away his hand, he covered it with his own and smirked. "Which means you're not allowed to tease for _too_ long."

Tom chuckled, the sound a warm vibration against Harry's shoulder. He left his hand underneath Harry's on his thigh, while with the other, he undid the uppermost buttons of the top Harry was wearing. He pushed the forest green fabric aside and pressed his lips to a bare shoulder. When Harry shivered, he playfully bit down, and Harry groaned.

"All right if I do this?" Tom asked, though the way Harry trembled in his arms was all the answer he needed.

"Yes!" Harry hissed when Tom bit down again, then licked the slight indent left by his even teeth. "Are you marking me as yours?" he whispered huskily.

"What if I am?" Tom murmured against the shell of Harry's ear, then let his tongue dip inside lightly as if to follow his breath.

Harry made a sound somewhere between a mewl and a groan, his eyes fluttering closed and shivers running up and down his spine.

"Are you, Harry?" Tom urged, speaking very softly so close to Harry's ear. "Are you mine?" He kissed Harry's shoulder again.

"Oh yes, Tom!" Harry gasped out, his back arching, his head pressing back against Tom's shoulder and his hips pushing forward, and finally, mercifully, Tom's hand covered him through warm and increasingly damp flannel. He pushed forward again, urging the hand to move, and its long fingers moulded themselves around him, stroking down hard between his legs and creating a delicious friction between his overheated skin and the soft cotton.

Tom wrapped his free arm around Harry's middle, underneath his pyjama top, holding him pressed hard against his own body. "Keep moving like that, Harry," he rasped, and when Harry flexed his hips back and then forward again, he groaned. "Ah yes... exactly like that. You feel so good against me."

"Tom!" Harry snapped his hips again, the pressure of Tom's arousal against his backside and his hand tightly curled over him in front blurring his vision. "Please," he begged.

Tom impatiently pushed down Harry's pyjama bottoms, and then his hand curled around him while he watched over Harry's shoulder.

And Harry watched too, his eyes wide and his mouth open to gasp in breath as he looked down at Tom's hand stroking him. Long, slow, tight strokes which threatened to drive him out of his wits, and the things Tom whispered in his ear weren't helping.

"Look how beautiful you are, Harry. You're like silk in my hand… so warm and flushed."

When Tom's hand swept over the tip and went back to work smoother and slicker, Harry groaned, his leg muscles trembling with the effort to make this last a little longer.

Tom hooked his feet around Harry's ankles and forced his legs wider apart and Harry's hips upwards at an angle, and Harry was panting, desperate to keep watching but his vision grew ever more unfocused, and then Tom's hand tightened around him, and the hand on his bare stomach moved to his chest, and with the next upwards stroke, a hard peak of flesh was twisted between two fingers, and he came and came, gasping and wheezing and almost passing out when Tom groaned and he felt the spread of wet warmth against his backside. With a sob, he went completely slack.

Tom held him in trembling arms until they had both calmed down, and then he carefully tucked the clothes back up over Harry's hips, rolled him over, and held him close.

"I made your pyjamas very dirty," Harry murmured into his neck with a smile.

Tom sounded intensely pleased when he said, "Hm… I _know_."

Harry snuggled into his arms, unable to resist pushing his hips forward a little to get a small, over-sensitised whimper out of Tom. "That's very flattering, but a pity, too. I was making plans."

Tom smirked. "You're almost well again. I'll remind you."

They huddled together under the duvet, exchanging sleepy kisses until finally, Harry murmured, "I really _am_ yours, you know."

Tom sighed contentedly. "I'm yours too, Harry." When he was sure Harry had dozed off, he added softly, "Though Merlin knows what I've done to deserve you."


	21. Smoke and Shadows

"Where's your permanent shadow?" Pansy grinned when Harry sat down next to her before their shared Defence against the Dark Arts class.

Harry unpacked his books. "Slughorn called him to his office - Prefect business." At that moment, Tom came in, and Harry looked up to smile at him.

"I hope you don't mind everyone knowing about you two." Pansy snickered. "Because with that silly grin you're wearing…"

"Oh." Harry tried to look normal, but then Tom sat down next to him on his other side, smelling delicious, and his arm brushed Harry's not at all accidentally, and he shivered.

"Good morning, Pansy," Tom greeted pleasantly, but his eyes strayed right back to Harry.

"Hey, Tom. Harry looks right as rain again." Pansy winked at him. "Miss Vervain had better keep a close guard on her job."

Tom sniggered. "I'm not likely to steal the hospital wing away from her. The Dark Arts are more my line." When Harry's face fell, he quickly clarified, "I've been thinking about teaching Defence against the Dark Arts here after seventh year; Merrythought is bound to retire by then."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry smiled. "Brilliant idea. I don't imagine they could possibly find a better candidate."

"Very true," Pansy chimed in, trying not to grin.

"There is one problem," Tom said thoughtfully. "I can't make much of a case for myself until I can produce a patronus. Some DADA teacher I'd be."

"You can't?" Harry asked, astonished. "But there's nothing you don't do better than anyone in this class, and on the first try."

"Except for that," Tom said. He glanced at Harry. "You can do it?" When Harry nodded, he asked, "Will you teach me?"

"Of course." Harry lowered his eyes bashfully. "This afternoon?"

Tom smiled. "Yes, please."

* * *

They were back in the DADA classroom after lunch, having checked with Professor Merrythought that it was all right.

"I know how it works in principle," Tom said. "But I've never managed to recall a happy enough memory." His voice was free of self-pity but held a trace of bitterness.

Harry smiled sadly. "That used to be my problem as well. I had to invent a happy enough memory in the end."

Tom blinked in surprise. "I'm sorry." He swallowed. "Who taught you?"

Thinking carefully about his answer, Harry said, "An old friend of my dad's."

Tom nodded; he knew Harry still wasn't comfortable talking about his dead parents, and he certainly shared that sentiment. "I haven't tried this lately, you know. Not since you got here." When Harry gave him a curious look, he smiled. "I think I might have a better chance now."

Harry felt warm all over. "Oh."

Tom cleared his throat. "Would you mind... May I see your patronus first?"

Harry nodded, cleared his mind until all that was left there was a vision of Tom smiling at him and looking happy, and shouted, "Expecto Patronum!"

The familiar white smoke burst from his wand and moved away across the room, taking shape as it slithered away from him. Slithered? Harry gasped in surprise as he watched the smoke shape itself into a giant snake undulating casually before him, nearly high enough to reach the ceiling.

Tom was smiling. "Merlin, Harry! That's impressive."

Harry stared at him, then back at the snake. "It used to be a stag," he all but croaked. Then he grinned - could he ask for better proof that his future had ceased to influence his present?

Tom was next to him, his hand on his shoulder. "I've never seen anyone conjure a more distinct or imposing patronus." He sounded awed, and Tom was never awed at anyone's magical achievements; they generally did not overshadow or even come close to his own.

It filled Harry with pride. "Your turn," he prompted happily.

Tom smiled at him, looked at him really hard, then pressed a quick kiss to his lips and stepped back. "Expecto patronum!" he called out.

A wisp of smoke curled from the end of his wand, swirled up into the air and, with a roar, took shape, just before silently landing on all fours and dashing across the room and past the astonished looking snake patronus.

Harry couldn't help it - he laughed out loud. He laughed so hard, he was holding his stomach and doubling over by the time his flabbergasted companion found his voice at all.

"A _lion_?" Tom exclaimed.

* * *

When they left the DADA classroom a short while later, after Tom had conjured his lion a few more times, just to be sure, though really, he couldn't believe his patronus was the symbol of Gryffindor, of all things, Harry was still fighting occasional chuckles.

"You find this rather funny, don't you?" Tom asked him with mock outrage.

Harry nodded, grinning. "It's an impressive lion, you have to admit."

Tom sighed, but a grin was beginning to tug at his lips. "Don't tell Minerva, whatever you do. I'll never hear the end of it."

"She'd love to know," Harry said mischievously. "Can't I? Please?" He grinned when Tom looked around, then pushed him down a little used side corridor, before pushing him against the wall and covering his mouth with his hand.

"Absolutely not," Tom whispered, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "I demand your silence on the matter." He lifted his hand only far enough off Harry's mouth to feel his breath warm against his palm.

"What do I get for keeping quiet?" Harry teased.

Tom smirked. "You want me to bribe you? You know I could simply keep your mouth busy at all times. You'd never be able to speak."

Harry whimpered. "Sounds fair." He bucked forward against Tom, who gripped Harry around the nape of his neck and kissed him hard. Harry's groan parted his lips, and Tom's tongue was inside him, thrusting against Harry's until his knees went weak. He realised just how much restraint Tom was using with him at all times, and suddenly, the day when he wouldn't anymore could not come soon enough. His arms moved around Tom's waist, his fingers digging into his back, and he held Tom pressed close to him, forgetting entirely just how publicly they were doing this.

"What did you think of to conjure your patronus this time?" Tom gasped against Harry's parted lips.

"You!" Harry shivered when Tom's hand moved up his back inside his jumper, kneading his firm skin. "You, smiling. Being happy."

"That's your happiest memory?" Tom whispered against Harry's chin before biting down on it lightly.

"Yes." Harry's fingers tangled in Tom's silky hair as he offered his neck to him. When Tom's lips travelled down the column of his throat, he closed his eyes. "What did you think of?"

Tom's chest clenched. Could he tell Harry? Should he? He wanted to hear it again, but from Harry's lips, not his own. He bought time by whispering his own silent confessions against Harry's skin, suckling at his throat while his hands played over Harry's back.

When they heard a gasp, followed by a whispered, "Oooh!" they couldn't tell how long the person had been standing there. They had no concept of reality while they were kissing. They moved apart reluctantly, but only a little way, turning to see who was intruding.

Myrtle stood at the end of the little corridor with an unholy glint in her eyes. "Boys aren't supposed to do things like that with other boys," she said, but her smirk and tone of voice made it clear the statement wasn't one she subscribed to.

"Yeah, well." Harry muttered, flushing when he noticed her looking down to where their hips were still pressed together - it would be even more embarrassing if they weren't, frankly.

She giggled gleefully. "I thought so." She moved a little closer. "Are you boyfriends then?" she asked. "Lovers?"

Harry opened his mouth, but it was Tom who spoke first. "Yes, Myrtle, we're lovers." He looked at him and felt giddy at Tom's expression. He certainly didn't seem embarrassed they'd been caught. In fact, Tom looked… proud. When he reached up to stroke his cheek, Tom smiled at him.

Myrtle looked back and forth between them and grinned from ear to ear, then heaved a dramatic sigh. "Well, your secret's safe with me, boys!" She turned around and walked off, giggling gleefully.

Harry and Tom exchanged a smile, and another quick kiss. They both knew it didn't matter whether or not Myrtle would keep their secret.

* * *

When Myrtle turned back into the main corridor, she collided with something large and stationary, and hissed at it by reflex.

"Hey, it's okay. Only me." A boy chuckled down at her from nearly a foot above her head.

She looked up to see she'd walked into Alexander Barnes, the Hufflepuff Prefect. "I suppose you'll take points," she challenged, but her voice was quaking a little.

Barnes tended to have that effect on girls. He wasn't as handsome as Tom or Harry - certainly not as far as Myrtle was concerned - but he had an endearingly crooked smile, a vast nose, and a head full of golden curls, so he rather did his name proud. He grinned. "Who do you think I might take points from? You or your lovesick friends?"

Myrtle narrowed her eyes at him, which didn't have a particularly fearsome effect, if Barnes' continued good humour was anything to go by. "I swear, if you get Tom and Harry into any trouble, I'll… I'll…" She tried hard to think of something suitably worrisome.

Barnes crossed his arms over his chest. "You'll what?"

"I'll hex you. Or I could just kick you," Myrtle announced.

Laughing out loud, Barnes said, "You've lost the element of surprise, you know." When she glared at him, he smiled. "And there's no need anyway. I don't plan on getting anyone into trouble."

Myrtle gaped at him. "You won't? Why?"

"Merlin, you _are_ suspicious. I suppose you can't help it." Barnes snorted. "Slytherins!"

"Hufflepuffs!" Myrtle countered. "Well, why are you being so annoyingly nice? Or can't you help that either?"

"I could, but I think you're more likely to agree to go to the New Year's Ball with me if I'm nice about it." When Myrtle's jaw dropped, he smirked. "Well?"

She stared at him. "Is this a trick? Did Olive Hornby put you up to this?"

"Who?" Barnes blinked at her in surprise.

"How do you even know me?" Myrtle demanded to know.

"I've seen you throw a mean snowball at someone who had it coming, and I asked around. Besides, I've been watching you."

Her mouth dropped open in outrage, but Barnes only smirked. "There now. I'm not the only one who likes to watch people, am I?"

Myrtle blushed. "But why me?" she squeaked.

Barnes sighed. "Because you're loyal and protective." He grinned. "And because I fancy girls with glasses, and you have a really cute voice when you're not shrieking." Myrtle shrieked, just a little, and Barnes laughed. "Well, imagine that. I even like you when you do. So, will you go with me?"

She nodded quickly, in case he'd change his mind, and when Barnes grinned and pressed a quick peck to her cheek before leaving, she wandered off in a daze with her hand raised to her cheek.

* * *

Harry and Tom had remained where they were, and after Barnes walked off, Harry grinned. "Well, that should keep Myrtle busy."

Tom raised a brow at him. "Do you have anything to do with that?"

"Well, I'm the one Barnes asked about Myrtle. That's all."

Tom gave a long-suffering sigh, but his smile was warm when he said, "People used to avoid each other, and certainly other houses, in this school. What is it about your presence that makes everyone fall head over heels in love?"

Harry's heart pounded and he twisted his fingers around Tom's between them. "I don't know. What do you think?" He looked deep into Tom's eyes.

"I think I'm incredibly lucky..." Tom leaned in for another long, tender kiss, before he rested his forehead against Harry's. "To have caught Cupid himself."


	22. Tango Notturno

I'm sure the chapter title is a giveaway - not only more for the soundtrack, but very little plot. :)  
Harry and Tom tango to the following:  
["Tango Notturno" - performed by muggles](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Mb_dKV6o3A) (Alfred Hause & His Tango Orchestra)  
["Santa Maria (Del Buen Ayre)"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tR5rW638DrU), ["Epoca"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=difEsv6U7UI) and ["Una Música Brutal"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TVQbyRZ_euQ) \- all performed by wizards (Gotan Project, in fact - a contemporary Argentinian/French collaboration who do the most amazing things with the tango; I think you'll agree that this is what wizard tango would sound like. Ever so sexy!)

* * *

The tango, Harry decided, had been invented by a sadistic, lecherous contortionist who enjoyed watching people expire from sheer sexual tension.

The lead-up to the last hurdle in his dance education had been easy enough with the rumba and cha cha cha respectively - both rather straightforward and fun at different paces. And then, Tom had said, "Time to learn the tango, Harry."

Minerva had squealed, Pansy had smirked, and Harry had wondered.

Five minutes later, watching Tom dance a tango with Minerva to show him how it was done, he was ready to hex the girl he'd grown rather fond of. She surely didn't have to wrap herself around Tom quite like that? He glanced at Pansy, surprised that she didn't look as outraged as he was. What kind of dance was this that this kind of behaviour was considered normal?

"Need another demonstration, Harry?" Minerva finally asked at the end of the song.

"No! No, that's fine. I've got it now," he declared rather too quickly and huffily, pretending not to notice her giggling at his expense.

"Do you?" Tom smirked far too knowingly, righting Minerva to stand up properly again and stepping back from her.

Harry flushed. "Yeah, I'm sure I can work it out."

Tom smiled at him and held out his hand, and Harry joined him before he could change his mind. "You were jealous," Tom whispered the moment he pulled Harry hard against himself. "Of Minerva!" he added, mirth in his voice.

"Was not." Harry pouted.

Laughing, Tom adjusted their positions properly. When his hand was between Harry's shoulder blades and their hips were touching, he smirked. "Oh, I've been looking forward to teaching you this."

At that moment, the music started, and Harry was so busy not to trip as Tom all but sliced into the dance floor with him, he could barely breathe. And to make things worse, once in a while, they'd do a spin during which Tom crushed him so close that what little breath he had left in him whooshed out of his lungs entirely.

Harry had no idea how he was keeping up, and he dreaded to think how much like a rag doll he must look in Tom's immensely capable arms. But then it slowly sunk in that anytime he got lost and muddled, Tom would do all the work and lift Harry's leg over his hip, tilt him, spin them, dip him, or otherwise contrive some way to make it all look like part of the plan. To Harry, it seemed less like a dance than an elaborate method of having one's way with someone. Which might be the point. And that was fine with him, and it certainly felt as if it was fine with Tom as well, and _that_ didn't help Harry's composure or concentration at all. It was positively obscene, and Harry had never loved dancing like he did then.

The girls, needless to say, weren't dancing, but watching. It didn't matter, because neither Harry nor Tom were paying them any mind at all.

Several songs - both muggle and wizard - later, Harry was a sweaty, panting mess, while even Tom's composure had shattered, and he looked flushed with his hair curling damply around his ears and at his neck.

"Can't take anymore of this," Harry gasped, when he found himself balanced precariously over Tom's arm, his back barely two feet above the floor.

Tom smiled mischievously, hauling Harry up and into his arms. "I swear, if we didn't have an audience right now…" he teased.

Harry shivered, clutching at the damp back of Tom's white shirt and enjoying the hot press of Tom's cheek against his own flushed face. "Some dance," he muttered brokenly.

"At which you're a natural," Tom murmured, nipping at his earlobe. "Minerva told me about a muggle saying describing the tango as the vertical expression of a horizontal desire, and I must say, they certainly have that right."

Harry blushed, but he was so hot, he didn't think anyone could tell the difference.

Someone coughed delicately, and Harry and Tom turned to look back at the girls.

Minerva grinned. "I really hate to be the bearer of very badly timed news, but it's your turn for Prefect's rounds tonight, Tom."

Tom's face fell. He looked into Harry's eyes. "Would you like me to resign as Prefect?"

Harry was in equal parts charmed and amused by the suggestion and the look of desperation in Tom's eyes. He told himself very sternly not to take advantage of it. "Don't be silly. Slughorn couldn't possibly find a better Prefect."

They packed up and left the Room of Requirement. It was well after dinner, so Tom went off to start his rounds, while Harry walked along the corridor with Pansy and Minerva for a bit.

"You two should definitely do a tango at the New Year's Ball," Pansy suggested. "It'll save the school a fortune in fireworks."

Minerva laughed out loud, and Harry looked down at his feet, grinning.

"Excuse me?" came a squeaky voice from down the corridor.

They turned to see Myrtle rushing to catch up. She grinned at Harry, and then looked back and forth between Minerva and Pansy as if unsure who to address.

"Can we do something for you, Myrtle?" Minerva finally asked with a smile.

Myrtle chewed her lip. "I was wondering… Someone's asked me to the ball." Here she blushed, and Harry smirked. "And I wasn't really expecting to go, and…" She took a deep breath. "Could you help me find a nice dress? I don't really know about things like that."

Pansy grinned. "We'd love to! Wouldn't we, Minnie?"

Minerva nodded. "Absolutely. Who are you going with?"

"Alexander Barnes," Myrtle said, and there was a distinct sigh in her voice.

"Ooh, the Hufflepuff Prefect?" Pansy looked suitably impressed. "Well done, Myrtle."

Minerva smiled as well. "He's a lovely boy!"

"Yes, isn't he?" Myrtle beamed.

Harry rolled his eyes but grinned. "Well, I'll leave you girls to it. I have stuff to do anyway."

Myrtle smirked at him knowingly, and he only wished her assumption was correct. "See you later, Harry." She giggled. "Probably with Tom."

He blushed and left the chuckling girls to themselves. An idea was slowly forming in his mind as he walked back to the dungeons, and by the time he got to the dorm and into the shower, he was more on edge than he had been earlier on the dance floor.

* * *

Harry sneaked down to Tom's room ten minutes after the time Prefect's rounds usually finished. He whispered the password and opened the door, slipping just inside, only to nearly step on Thoth.

"Sssorry, didn't sssee you there!" he hissed, pushing the invisibility cloak off himself and letting it fall to the floor as he picked up the moon adder.

"The other massster isss making sssteam," Thoth explained. "I wanted to look for you."

Harry grinned. Making steam - that meant Tom had just returned and was having a shower; he always did so here after his rounds, and then came up to the dorm. "Well, you found me. I'm here to sssurprise Tom."

He heard a sharp intake of breath from somewhere, and looked back into the dark corridor quickly, but there was no one in sight. Frowning, Harry shut the door behind himself and Thoth, unaware that John Avery was lurking around the nearest corner with a sneer and a calculating look in his eyes.

* * *

The shower stopped a few minutes later. Harry had chatted to Thoth very quietly while settling him in the small stone landscape Tom had created for him on a sideboard, and then leaned back against the door with his invisibility cloak covering him again.

When Tom came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a soft, black towel, Harry's gasp nearly gave him away. He watched Tom run his fingers through his wet hair as he walked towards the woodstove, apparently considering whether or not to let it burn out or magic out the fire. He left it alone and sat down in the big armchair next to it with a sigh, leaning back against the soft, worn leather, letting his legs fall open.

Harry licked his lips at the sight. Tom's legs were long and smooth and perfectly shaped, and he would have given anything at that point to let his eyes follow them right up to Tom's hips, but the blasted towel was in the way. A few stray drops of water still clung to Tom's chest, running down his firm stomach towards the edge of the towel where it was draped and tucked in below his navel. He wanted to just stand there and admire the sight, but Harry knew Tom would get dressed at any moment.

"I know you're there, Harry." Tom lifted his head and smirked.

Harry let the cloak fall back from his head and shoulders. "How?" He walked towards him with a sheepish smile.

"You were breathing," Tom said as if it explained everything.

Harry stopped in front of him. "Probably very loudly, seeing you like that." He let his eyes run down Tom's slender and mostly nude form.

Tom shook his head with a smile. "I simply know the sound of your breathing very well." He raised a brow. "I was about to come up to the dorm."

"I know. I wanted to get you alone." Harry moved close enough for his leg to touch Tom's bare knee.

"Why?" Tom shifted a little, returning the pressure against his leg while he looked up at Harry heatedly.

Harry smirked, feeling oddly reassured and emboldened by Tom's evident anticipation. He dropped his eyes to let them slide over the towel across Tom's hips, found it straining rather more than it had done earlier. "I still have a favour to repay, remember?" His voice was husky.

"How could I forget?" Tom swallowed hard when Harry sank to his knees in front of him and placed his hands on his thighs. "Harry," he whispered.

Harry looked up at Tom, the green light from above and the glow from the low fire reflecting off his smooth skin. There were sparks of light dancing across his collarbones. "You look breathtaking," he said softly.

Tom smiled almost shyly, but his lips parted on a gasp when Harry ran his hands up over the towel to untuck it. He watched his fingers working in the thick black cotton and considered helping, but he could barely breathe with expectation.

"I've been thinking about this all evening," Harry confessed quietly, then chewed his lip in concentration as he freed the end of the towel at Tom's waist and peeled it back to slowly reveal a bare hip - smooth and glowing vaguely platinum under the skylight, curving down to strong thighs which fell open a little wider.

Tom sucked in a breath when Harry folded back the other side of the towel, leaving him utterly exposed to his gaze where he knelt between his thighs. "Ha… have you, Harry?"

Harry looked up at him from under his lashes. "Oh yes. I've thought about making you squirm, after what you did to me earlier."

"What did I do?" Tom managed to say as Harry's fingers trailed inwards along the creases where his hips met his thighs.

"Drove me mad?" Harry said with a raised brow. "Mind you, you're not done yet." His fingers trembled as they caressed the smooth skin on the insides of Tom's thighs, which quivered a little under his touch. "God, you're so…" He swallowed.

"Please, Harry," Tom whispered, covering Harry's hand with his own and guiding it upwards along the patch of crisp hair to cover him where he lay hard against his stomach.

Harry was breathing laboriously, letting Tom curl his fingers around the hot, pulsing flesh. "So beautiful," he sighed. He stroked once, experimentally, and Tom's hand fell away to rest at his side as he bucked up with a moan. And suddenly, Harry knew that touching him wouldn't be enough. He could breathe in the arousal on Tom's warm, damp, clean skin, but he wanted more. He leaned his head forward and swiped his tongue across the crown lightly.

Tom sat bolt upright, staring down at him and panting hard. "Harry!"

"Is it all right if I do this?" Harry asked shyly, puckering his lips and pressing a kiss to the silky flesh.

"God, yes!" Tom licked his lips. "If you want. You don't have to, but…"

"You'd like me to," Harry checked, smiling when Tom nodded jerkily. "Good. Because I really, really want to." And with that, he opened his mouth and let his lips slide down over the tip, tightening his palm ever so slightly. Tom's surprised and pleased groan shivered through him, and he adjusted his kneeling position to allow for more room in his own restrictive clothes.

Tom tasted wonderful - musky and clean and a little salty. So warm and yielding on Harry's tongue. When Harry glanced up from under his lashes, he saw Tom's head thrown back against the leather, his mouth open and his eyes squeezed firmly shut, looking so open and vulnerable, it made Harry want to be as gentle as he could possibly be. He released him to cradle him in his hand, and Tom looked down at him almost fearfully.

"I'm afraid I'll hurt you," Harry said hoarsely. "I don't really know what I'm doing."

Tom swallowed. "Do whatever you want to do, Harry. The only thing that would hurt me is if you stopped." He reached down to take Harry's hand, twisting their fingers together. "Please don't."

Moved, Harry smiled. "I won't." He left his right hand in Tom's, his left stroking soothingly up Tom's hip to rest on his belly, and started over slowly, licking long, slow trails up the hard shaft towards the tip, his eyes half-closed in concentration. He could hear Tom breathing rapidly, felt him grow even harder against his tongue, and hmm-ed in pleasure at the reaction.

Tom gasped, his grip tightening on Harry's fingers. He wanted to close his eyes and just feel. He'd never been good at feeling. But he wanted to watch Harry taking him apart. He wanted to see his brilliant green eyes half-lidded, his cheeks hollowed, his lips wet and straining around him. He wanted… so much. He groaned.

Harry's hand on Tom's belly moved in a soothing circle, brushing his navel, trailing up to his chest and slowly back down. He watched the skin against his tongue flush and darken, felt it hot against his lips, and when the salty taste intensified and the crown began to glisten with more than his saliva, he gave in to temptation and closed his lips over it again, moving down as far as he could. It was hard to breathe, but Tom's groan and the feel and taste of him so intense more than made up for it. He wished he could take him completely, but didn't know how, so he used his left hand where he could not, stroking in careful, almost soothing motions.

"Harder!" Tom gasped, bucking up but aborting the movement quickly to avoid choking Harry. "Please," he mewled. "I won't break." His voice nearly proved him a liar.

Harry used his tongue, tightened his lips, and stroked harder and faster. He was dizzy with Tom's taste. He hadn't anticipated that this would be as pleasurable for him as for Tom, resisted the urge to reach down between his own legs, clutching Tom's right hand more tightly instead.

Tom was murmuring incoherently, his free hand reaching down to touch Harry's temple, get his attention. "Harry, I… ah, god! Harry!"

Harry looked up, Tom's flushed face and the way his tongue darted out across his lips nearly his own undoing, and he groaned around him.

Tom spasmed in his mouth, his whole body arching, and before Harry could prepare himself, his mouth was flooded. He swallowed frantically, drawing back only far enough to avoid choking.

"Sorry!" Tom gasped even while still reeling with his climax.

Harry squeezed his hand reassuringly, taking a deep breath when the flow stopped. He let Tom slide gently from his sticky lips, cradling him in his palm, and stood up on shaky legs. He fell more than climbed on Tom's lap, where bare arms drew him close and held him tight, his face nestling against Tom's flushed, damp neck, his tongue darting out to give the skin there an experimental lick.

Tom huffed out a breathless little laugh, and Harry explained, "Can't stop tasting you now. Sorry."

"Don't be." Tom stroked the back of Harry's head and traced down his spine. "Oh, Harry. Harry…" He sighed.

Harry smiled, gasped a little when Tom's hand moved down over the curve of his backside, held his breath when Tom stilled, then lifted his hand to move it between them. He squirmed and whimpered when Tom struggled with the fastenings of his trousers and pushed his hand inside. "It won't take much!" he wheezed when warm fingers closed around his throbbing flesh.

Tom shifted them until Harry sat upright across his lap, half-mortified when the position threatened to make him grow hard again already, and looked up into Harry's flushed face while he stroked him with firm, rapid strokes. "Let go," he prompted huskily. "Now, Harry. I want to taste you too."

And Harry did, arching his back and pushing up into Tom's grip with a moan.

Tom made a pleased little sound when he withdrew his hand a minute later, holding it up to his lips to give it experimental little licks while Harry watched with wide eyes, panting as he came down from his high. "Delicious," Tom purred. "Knew you would be."

Harry leaned in and closed his lips over Tom's index finger, and sucked. "Hm. Okay. But not as delicious as you."

Tom stared at him, then pulled him down and kissed him hard, his tongue forcing itself into Harry's mouth and wreaking havoc there until one of them groaned and the other whimpered. When he finally released Harry's bruised lips, panting against them, he felt them stretched into a smile. He ran shaky fingers through the hair behind Harry's ear. "Don't ever leave me, Harry," he pleaded, shocked by the desperation in his own voice.

Harry didn't seem to mind - his smile left his lips and lit up his eyes instead as he mirrored the caress to Tom's still shower-damp hair. "Never." He kissed him softly until Tom mewled. "I'm yours, remember?"

Tom smiled. "Mine."

"Well… almost," Harry corrected, to Tom's horror, but smiled at him reassuringly. "I need to keep a little bit of myself, or I'll have nothing to give you for your birthday." Tom smirked. "Unless you don't want--" Harry's words were muffled in Tom's mouth, and if he wasn't busy being kissed breathless, he would still be smiling.


	23. Reformation

"Why not green?" asked Myrtle, looking sulky.

"Because that shade makes you look too pale." Pansy thought she and Minerva should get an award of some kind for their patience. It wasn't that they weren't perfectly happy to help Myrtle pick a dress for the New Year's Ball. It was fun, really. But the girl had no idea what suited her and what didn't, and she was really rather stubborn.

"Why don't you like the blue one?" Minerva said, holding up a pretty navy dress with powder blue trim around the collar and sleeves.

"Ravenclaw colours," Myrtle grumbled.

Pansy sat down on the end of Minerva's bed with a sigh. They'd mail-ordered a selection of evening dresses from Diagon Alley on trial, and while Minerva and Pansy had already picked theirs, Myrtle didn't like anything. At least not anything which suited her.

Suddenly, Minerva yipped. "This one!" She held up a turquoise gown decorated with threads of silver and gold; it had long sleeves and a curved neckline, with the bodice flaring out into layers of silk. "You'd look like a mermaid in this."

Myrtle goggled at the dress. "That'll be much too expensive."

Minerva quickly clipped the price tag off with the edge of a long fingernail. "Not at all. I think it's… oh, can't find the tag now. But I saw it earlier, and it's less than the green one you liked." She grinned at Pansy's knowing smirk - they'd agreed in advance to chip in for Myrtle's dress, knowing she didn't have a lot of money.

Myrtle frowned. "Is it really?" She reached out for the dress and studied it. "It's very pretty." She tried it on, and once Minerva had tucked it into place, and Pansy had piled Myrtle's long hair up on top of her head with a lot of clips, they pushed her in front of the full-length mirror.

"See?" Minerva declared triumphantly. "A bit of make-up on the day, and it'll be perfect."

Myrtle gaped at herself. "Oh!"

Pansy leaned in and whispered, "Barnes will drool at the sight of you."

Myrtle giggled gleefully.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Myrtle was on her way back to her dorm, and the girls collapsed in exhaustion on Minerva's bed.

"And I thought you were difficult to shop for!" Minerva laughed.

Pansy mock-growled at her. "I am not. At least I knew what colour I wanted."

Still giggling, Minerva rolled onto her side to face her. "Only because we'd agreed with Tom and Harry about what we're all wearing." She smiled. "I must say though, Myrtle is going to look quite cute in that dress."

"Yes." Pansy grinned. "But I'm the one who's going with the Belle of the Ball." She twirled her index finger in Minerva's long hair.

"Impossible. That would be me."

Minerva giggled when Pansy gave her a pout and rolled her on her back, straddling her. "Are we going to have to fight over this?" She bounced up and down on her hips playfully.

Settling her hands on Pansy's slim waist, Minerva said thoughtfully, "We could at that. I could try and overpower you, and you could struggle for a wee while, and then you could give in."

Pansy grinned. "We did that yesterday." She trailed her long fingers down between the girl's collarbones and towards the dip of her neckline, where she started flipping tiny button after tiny button open on her cardigan. Her eyebrow rose. "You're not wearing anything under that."

"What about yourself?" Minerva tugged at Pansy's blouse and began to unbutton it from the bottom up. "Oh, bugger that," she complained when she reached the edge of the cream-coloured bra.

Pansy chuckled. "Easily fixed." She shrugged off the blouse and threw it behind her, sending the lacy bra off after it.

Minerva smiled and pulled her down to lie fully on top of her, gasping when Pansy's small but perfectly shaped breasts nudged her own.

"Mmm… Minnie." Pansy kissed her, slithering about on top of Minerva in a way that had her girlfriend whimpering. She reached down and rucked up Minerva's short skirt, and her long fingers disappeared underneath.

Minerva gasped and bucked up, almost dislodging Pansy. "Holy Merlin!" she shrieked when Pansy twisted her fingers in a particularly delicious way.

Pansy giggled. "You know that certain item we ordered last week?" she whispered against Minerva's long, arched neck.

Minerva made a sound of pure pleasure, followed by a squeak of agreement. "Aye?"

"It arrived with the dresses."

They both stilled, Pansy grinning down at Minerva mischievously, Minerva staring up at her, panting.

"Well, why aren't you wearing it yet?" Minerva finally demanded.

"Me first then?" Pansy asked, rather pleased, and even more pleased when a purposeful thrust of her fingers straight up had Minerva yelping in a particularly adorable way.

"Please?" the other girl demanded.

Pansy leaned across Minerva to reach the bedside chest of drawers and pulled out the top one. When she settled across Minerva's middle again, she held their purchase in her hands.

"It's longer than I thought," Minerva said, gulping. "Put it on, Pansy, right this minute." Then she yelped. "Oh, blast! There's a meeting with Tom and the other Prefects in the library in half an hour."

"Plenty of time." Pansy grinned, removed her skirt and knickers, and set about attaching the strap-on in all haste. "I feel ridiculous in this," she stated, slapping the protruding rubber phallus until it wobbled about.

Minerva dissolved into giggles, but her deep blue eyes sparkled when she lay back, spread her legs wide, and said, "Well, you look completely irresistible. So… what are we waiting for?" She winked. "Time's ticking."

* * *

Myrtle had been distracted by thoughts of the ball. It took her a while to notice she'd strayed so far from her path as to be nowhere near the dungeons. When she realised it, she looked around with a sigh, wondering where exactly she was. Probably some remote part of Gryffindor territory. It looked like any other corridor, so she went to open the first door she could find to get her bearings. "Hello?" she called out.

There was a shuffling and a sound like huge claws clattering across stone right in front of her, followed by someone yelling out some strange word she'd never heard.

She stumbled backwards when she saw what was making its way towards her, followed by that big lumbering boy from Gryffindor she always avoided, and she started running, looking back over her shoulder repeatedly. The thing kept getting closer, and her eyes widened and her mouth opened, but it seemed to take ages before the scream managed to make it past her lips.

Someone yelled her name, and she thought she saw Tom at the end of the corridor, raising his wand, but the thing kept getting closer, and she kept screaming so loudly, it shook the pictures on the wall. When she ran out of oxygen and slumped to the cold stones, she heard a smooth voice intoning, "Arania Exumai!"

* * *

"Myrtle? Myrtle, say something!"

When she opened her eyes, all she saw was a huge nose, a pile of blond curls, and a big smile.

"You're alive!" She was hauled up to her feet, and crushed none too gently against the tall bulk of Alexander Barnes. "Riddle, I can't thank you enough," the Hufflepuff was saying.

Myrtle blinked. She noticed Tom standing a few feet away, looking disdainfully at the crumpled remains of the acromantula. On the other side of it sat the Gryffindor giant, bound in magical ropes, muttering something or other. She shuddered.

More and more students began to assemble, some alerted by Myrtle's screams, some by the repeated spell-casting, some simply because they were in a corridor not far off the main route between Gryffindor tower and the library.

"Tom saved your life." Barnes smiled at Myrtle, holding her close. "We were just down the corridor, on the way to the library."

Myrtle blushed. "Oh."

Tom took his eyes off Hagrid for a moment to glance at her. "Are you all right, Myrtle?"

"Yes, thank you," she squeaked.

He nodded, then glared at Hagrid.

"Aragog didn't meant no harm!" the half-giant protested. "You didn't have to kill him!"

Tom merely sneered at him.

"It almost killed Myrtle!" Barnes protested. "What in Merlin's name were you doing keeping a thing like that in a school?"

More students appeared, among them Harry. He saw Hagrid, and then looked at Tom and rushed forward. "What happened?"

"That… monster there was about to attack Myrtle," Tom explained, not sure how Harry would react to his killing of it and restraining Hagrid.

Harry took in the situation, trying to suppress his shivers at the semi-familiarity of it all. "You all right, Myrtle?" he echoed Tom's earlier question.

Myrtle nodded. "Thanks to Tom, yes."

Dumbledore and Dippet appeared on the scene, demanding to know what had happened. Tom explained, with Barnes chiming in to ensure Tom's role in the whole affair was made clear. Myrtle nodded vigorously in agreement.

Dumbledore's brows rose, and he looked doubtful, but Dippet nodded. "Better release Hagrid, Mr Riddle. Come up to my office, Hagrid. You too, Mr Riddle. And Miss Milligan as well. This is a serious business. Very serious business. Who knows what might have happened."

Harry was by Tom's side, brushing against his arm and whispering, "You saved her."

"I think so, yes," Tom said, sounding surprised.

Harry couldn't quite suppress a smile, which slipped off his face when he heard Dumbledore's hissed words to Dippet.

"I'm not so sure about all this, headmaster. I've never known Tom Riddle to protect anyone, let alone a muggleborn."

Harry saw red. "Maybe you shouldn't presume to _know_ Tom! It's very clear that you don't," he spat, loudly enough for every student within earshot to hear him.

Dumbledore gaped at him, while Dippet looked astonished. Myrtle was cackling quietly in the background.

"Mr Potter, some respect, if you please," Dumbledore finally managed. "I don't need to be your head of house to assign you detentions lasting well into next year."

Harry didn't look impressed or intimidated. "If you think that's appropriate punishment for telling the truth, _sir_ , go right ahead."

Barnes cleared his throat. "You'd better assign me detentions as well, sir. I saw what Tom did with my own eyes, and I defy anyone who doubts that he saved Myrtle's life."

"Me too!" Myrtle piped up.

There were hushed whispers, and Harry caught the completely flabbergasted expression on Tom's face from the corner of his eye.

Dippet coughed delicately. "Now, now. I'm sure there's no need for all this. Professor Dumbledore surely didn't mean to imply anything untoward about Mr Riddle." He carefully avoided asking the head of Gryffindor house to make sure. "I think it best if all parties concerned come up to my office, and we'll sort this out. Better leave the… er… the creature here for now. Might be evidence. It's quite dead, I assume?"

Tom nodded. "Yes, headmaster. Quite."

"Right." Dippet waved his arms about. "Back to your common rooms, students."

The crowd dispersed slowly, no doubt off to gossip about the events that had just unfolded. One student who had no desire to share the evening's events with anyone was a stone-faced John Avery who shot looks of pure loathing at Harry's back.

Harry, though not directly involved, followed the group up to Dippet's office, staying close to Tom's side. If anyone had a problem with him going along, then that was just too bad. "You're a hero," he whispered.

Tom gave him an uncertain smile. "Really?"

Harry nodded vigorously. "I'm not the only one who thinks so." He grinned when Tom took in Myrtle's beaming smile and Barnes' look of total awe in their direction. "Better get used to it."

"Oh Merlin!" Tom whispered, sounding slightly shocked.

Harry laughed softly.

* * *

An hour later, Hagrid had been expelled for endangering fellow students. Tom had been promised an Award for Special Services to the School, and Myrtle and Barnes had finally stopped thanking Tom and allowed him and Harry to slip away.

Stumbling into Tom's room at last, Harry threw the door closed and hugged Tom. He wondered whether he should feel worse about Hagrid than he did, but remembering his own encounter with that very same acromantula, and Hagrid's history - or rather, future - of pets, he couldn't help but think that Hagrid's expulsion was safer for the rest of the students, no matter the timeline.

Tom pulled back slowly, stroking back Harry's hair and smiling. "I can't believe how you stood up for me. Minerva will want to make you an honorary Gryffindor, though I doubt Dumbledore will let her."

Harry blushed. "Dumbledore was being unfair."

"Is that the only reason?" Tom asked, still smiling.

"No." Harry smiled bashfully, about to say more, when Tom's fingers stilled on his forehead. "What?" he asked.

Tom stared at him with a raised brow. "Come closer to the light, Harry."

Harry allowed himself to be pulled towards the lamp in the corner of the room, where Tom cupped his face and held back his hair. "What's the matter?"

"I thought for a moment your scar had gone."

Harry's heart pounded. "Has it?"

Tom shook his head. "No. Not quite." He raised a brow. "But it's almost entirely faded. Just a thin pink line now." He traced it lightly, making Harry shiver with more than pleasure. "Why, Harry?"

"I'm not sure." There were a lot of questions in Tom's eyes - potentially dangerous questions - and Harry pulled him down with one hand on the back of his neck before he could voice them. His mind was reeling, and he knew even Tom's patience would run out one day. But for now, he thought it best to distract him with a string of long, passionate kisses. He didn't want to tell Tom half-truths anymore, but in kissing him, there was no deception of any kind.


	24. Prophecies and Promises

"Something's happening," Harry stated. He had abducted Pansy from Minerva's clutches under the guise of needing homework help that was so trivial, he was embarrassed to ask Tom about it. Minerva had laughed at him, and Pansy had played the role of exasperated cousin quite well; Harry was thoroughly fed up with role-playing himself.

It had taken them a few minutes to get away, because Minerva wanted to know all about Tom's heroic rescue of Myrtle the previous evening, but eventually, Harry had managed to get Pansy to follow him to an empty classroom neither of them had ever been in.

"Is this about yesterday?" Pansy asked, worried because Harry seemed very much on edge and hadn't required one of _these_ talks for a while. "Because if you ask me, Harry, that was a wonderful thing for Tom to do!"

"Of course it was. And yes, it sort of is. But... oh, just look!" Harry held the hair back from his forehead.

Pansy gasped. "It's almost gone!" Breaking into a smile, she enthused, "But that's great! It has to be a good sign."

Sighing, Harry let his fringe drop back down over the nearly invisible scar. "The kind of sign someone with Tom's intelligence doesn't miss, Pansy."

"Oh, Merlin." Her face fell. "What did he say?"

"He asked me why it's fading, because he knows that I know - not that I do exactly, but I have my suspicions."

"When did it start fading?" Pansy asked, sitting down in the nearest chair.

Harry sat on the desk in front of her, his fingernails nervously scraping the rough wood surface. "After we went to Diagon Alley, well… London, rather. Muggle London."

Pansy nodded, pondering this. "And ever since, it's been like this?"

Harry shook his head. "No, it only faded a little then. It got like this after last night. After Myrtle."

Pansy assessed him for a good minute. Finally, she said softly, "What are you thinking, Harry?"

"I'm thinking that each time Tom saves a life, my scar fades further." Pansy's eyes widened. "There are other things I'm thinking too," Harry continued. His voice was quiet… worried, and Pansy frowned. "You know that prophecy about me and Voldemort?"

"Something about neither living while the other survives," Pansy mused. "Harry, I don't think--"

Harry shook his head. "No. But I think that's rather turned on its head now along with just about everything else." He smiled sadly. "Speaking for myself, I couldn't live without him anymore."

Pansy gazed at him sadly. "Have you told him how much you love him?"

By this point, Harry was blinking, avoiding her eyes. "I have no right to, Pansy. I've been lying to him - for good reasons, I know - but still, I've been lying to him since we got here. And I don't… I can't…" There was a choked sound in the back of his throat.

Pansy rose and moved forward to hug him, and he held onto her. "I know, Harry. I know," she muttered softly. "I'm getting that way myself. A dozen times a day, I want to just come out and tell Minnie." She sighed against his shoulder. "Your side of it is so much harder, I know. It's not that strange not to go home to your parents during the winter holidays, but eventually..."

Harry drew back. "What are we going to do?" he asked, sounding quite desperate.

"What do you want to do?" Pansy chewed on her bottom lip. "Harry, I'm going to go along with you on this, whatever you decide. We're here because of Tom, so it's your decision."

"It hasn't been my decision since I sat down next to him at the Slytherin table," Harry mused ruefully. "This was always going to come up, wasn't it?"

Pansy nodded. "But the 'when' and 'how' are up to you."

With a sigh, Harry looked into Pansy's eyes; he was getting quite good at reading her. "You're scared too."

"Of course I am." She tried to smile. "Minnie will have my hide. But I think… hope she'll understand."

"I'm sure she will," Harry reassured. "As for Tom…"

"He loves you, you know." This time, she did smile. "It's in everything he does and says. It might be hard, and he'll be angry at first, I imagine, but he'll see why you couldn't tell him before."

Harry smiled back cautiously. "I hope so." He added softly, "If we're wrong, everything will fall apart." He suddenly shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. "It might be worse than it was in the first place."

Pansy inhaled sharply. "Then we'd better not be wrong."

* * *

Potter was at Quidditch practice - the last one of the year. Potter's bloody Quidditch practices were virtually the only time one could get Tom Riddle alone. Avery tasted bile at the thought, but swallowed it down as he approached the Prefect where he was bent over a Potions book in a remote corner of the Slytherin common room.

"Riddle, you're difficult to find these days." Avery did his best impression of a smile and settled in across from him.

Tom didn't even glance up from his book. "Hardly." He turned a page.

Avery hated being ignored. He hated nothing more than being ignored by Tom. Except for Potter - he definitely hated him more, because it was all his fault. Everything was his doing. "I guess Potter always knows where to find you," he said spitefully.

This time, Tom did look up. "What do you want, Avery?"

"What I've always wanted - Hogwarts without mudbloods polluting it, power, people showing me respect." Avery smiled nastily. "What about you, Riddle? What are your priorities these days? I could have sworn I saw you saving a filthy mudblood life only yesterday."

Tom's expression should have been all the warning he needed. "I don't see that my priorities are any of your business, Avery."

"I've always thought they were the same as mine."

"We can't always be right about everything," Tom stated blandly.

Avery cursed under his breath, deciding on a different strategy. "I've always _hoped_ your priorities and mine were the same. You know that, don't you?" He smirked, his too sharp, angular face at odds with his expression of want. "Tom. You know I'd be more than content to be your right hand. Your slaying angel, if you like." He reached across and ran his fingers just under the cuff of Tom's shirt. "And whatever else you'd let me be."

Tom pulled his arm back as if burnt, his eyes hard as steel. "Keep your hands to yourself, Avery. You're a pathetic excuse for a wizard, and your grovelling disgusts me."

Avery flinched as if struck. "What's so special about Potter? He's soft, he's sentimental… he's weak. I thought you didn't want weaknesses." He was breathing heavily, desperate to make his point. "He's your weakness, _Master_ , and I can prove it to you."

Tom hissed. He knew it didn't bode well that Avery was avoiding his gaze directly. He raised his hand, balling it slowly into a fist, watching Avery's eyes widen in horror as he reached up to his own throat. "I will only tell you this once, Avery. Don’t _ever_ say another word against Harry. And if you even think about harming him…" Avery gripped his throat, choking as Tom's fist clenched in midair. "You'll find I need no _slaying angel_ to do my bidding." He scoffed, loosening his fist slightly until Avery gasped for breath. "You're not worthy of licking Harry's boots." With this, he stood and swept from the room.

Avery held his throat, coughing. His eyes were watering with more than pain, but the bile was back in his restricted throat. He hadn't worshipped Tom for years just to watch some mudblood-loving fool turn him into a weakling. He'd make him see his error soon enough, and then he'd be all too happy to have Avery at his feet. Everything would be right with his world again.

* * *

"Potter!" the Slytherin captain called out when Harry made a sudden, too rapid descent to the snow-covered ground, where he staggered off his broom and fell to his knees. "Potter, what's wrong?"

Harry was coughing and choking, throwing up his breakfast. When he finally managed to gasp in air again, he was dizzy and weak.

Half the team descended to the ground, a couple of them walking up to him. "What happened, Potter? You looked fine a minute ago."

"Don't know," Harry wheezed. "No idea."

"Practice is over," the captain called out to the rest of the team. "We'll set up a new timetable in January."

The team dispersed, one or two of them patting Harry on the shoulder, suggesting he should go to the hospital wing.

He nodded, having no intention to do so. His nausea had disappeared as quickly as it had begun, leaving him thoroughly confused.

* * *

Tom was propped up in the bed in his private room, with Harry sitting at a right angle to him, between his legs and with his head on his shoulder. Tom was rubbing his stomach soothingly. "Are you _sure_ you're feeling better?" he asked worriedly.

"Yes, it was just a brief spell, and hours ago. Don't worry, Tom."

"Of course I worry. You shouldn't get sick for no reason like that."

Harry smiled contentedly. "Maybe I just wanted you to look after me again. You're awfully good at it."

Tom frowned but wrapped his arm around Harry more tightly. "Harry, has Avery said or done anything to you?"

Harry shuddered. "He's kind of ignored me lately, which is fine with me. Why?"

Tom rested his cheek on Harry's head. "Watch out for him. He's up to something."

"What?" Harry closed his eyes, enjoying Tom's closeness.

"I don't know. But he's a jealous, power-hungry fool, and he may be stupid, but even he can see that I--" He stopped.

"That you what?" Harry asked, meeting Tom's eyes.

"Harry, do you know why your scar is fading? I think it's important." Harry knew all too well that it was important. He couldn't suppress his sigh as he lowered his eyes. Tom lifted his face by his chin, but Harry avoided his gaze. "I know you're keeping things from me, Harry. Things to do with your parents and your past." When Harry gulped, looking worried, he added, "Whatever it is, Harry, I wish you would tell me."

"I… I can't. Not yet. I… I don't know how." Harry suddenly blinked. "Tom, I know you're a Legilimens. Why have you never forced your way into my mind?"

Tom looked sad at that. "Because you're the first person who's ever trusted me completely. I won't abuse your trust, no matter how much I want to know your secret. I'll wait until you're ready, however long it takes."

Harry raised a shaky hand to Tom's cheek, sighing when he pressed into the touch. "Oh Tom, I love you! I want to tell you so much. I _need_ to tell you--"

"Harry, wait!" Tom interrupted. "Say that again." His gaze was soft, and suspiciously wet, but a smile was slowly forming on his lips. " _Please_ , say it again."

"I love you," Harry whispered. He found he didn't care if the time was wrong. He'd never take those words back, no matter what.

Tom's smile was heartbreaking, and his lips were trembling when he leaned in to kiss Harry with the utmost care, before resting his cheek against Harry's. "I love you too, Harry. You're everything to me." They both swallowed back tears. "And I promise, I won't stop loving you, no matter what your secret is."

Harry wrapped his arms around Tom's neck and clung to him. He wanted to believe that. He wanted to, so much. And the warmth of Tom's arms around him and the happy little sigh against his neck made him think that maybe, just maybe, it was possible.


	25. A Sense of Responsibility

Worrying about somebody else's wellbeing was still a new experience for Tom. And he found himself worrying about Harry constantly, certain that he was in danger, but helpless to uncover the nature of that danger in any way which would not betray Harry's faith in him. Not long ago, he would have had no scruples forcing Avery's plans from his mind and putting a stop to him by whatever means necessary, including killing him. But everything had changed.

When he finally managed to devise a plan which would allow him to keep track of Harry surreptitiously, Thoth was more than happy to assist, hissing concerned assurances that he would look after the other master to the best of his abilities, and no, he didn't mind being stuck in the pocket of Harry's robes all day long for however many days he was needed.

"He mussst not know you're there," Tom cautioned. "I don't want to worry him unduly, and knowing Harry, he'd be more concerned for you than for himssself!"

"Massster Harry will not know, unlesss there isss danger," Thoth told him, undulating gently in Tom's palm.

Tom breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

* * *

It was the last day of classes, and those students who were going home for the Yule celebrations - most of them would return for the New Year's Ball - were preparing to leave. There was a lot of hectic to-and-fro-ing, and Harry was making his way back to the dungeons after saying goodbye to Myrtle and Alexander at the front doors, when a hand reached out and pulled him down a corridor. He was about to draw his wand when he recognised the other boy.

"Tom, are you trying to give me a heart attack?" He smiled. "I thought you were talking to Slughorn?"

Tom smiled tightly, pulling him along. "The meeting didn't last long. I wanted to surprise you. Seen everyone off, then?"

Harry frowned. "Surprise me? You knew I was coming to your room."

Tom smiled, but it looked almost closer to a sneer. "Couldn't wait to see you, I guess. Anyway, I want to show you something first." He steered Harry down yet another corridor, which looked utterly unfamiliar, and towards a heavy door at the end of it. His fingers were like clamps around Harry's arm, causing him to wince in pain.

"You're hurting me! Tom, why are you--" Suddenly stopping in his tracks, Harry narrowed his eyes at him. "You're not Tom!"

A polyjuiced Avery clenched his teeth, forced out, "Accio wand!", and caught Harry's wand in his raised hand. Physically stronger, he yanked Harry towards the door, tore it open, and shoved him inside. "In there, Potter! Keep your mouth shut if you don't want to know what the Cruciatus feels like."

Harry stumbled into the room, with Avery following him inside and slamming the door shut behind them. "I already know," Harry said.

Avery scoffed, casting silencing and locking charms on the room. "Really? Looks like you and Riddle get up to more than holding hands then, though I didn't imagine you the type to get off on pain."

Harry frowned, rubbing his arm. "Unlike you, you mean."

Avery was in front of him in an instant, fingers twisting in Harry's lapels while he glared down at him. "I don't know what your game is, Potter, but while you may have Riddle under some kind of spell, don't think I'm going to stand by and watch you turn him into some sentimental, muggle-loving fool."

Harry was having trouble breathing, but couldn't help gasp out, "Tom's not your kind, Avery. He makes up his own mind. He's no more my puppet than yours."

Laughing nastily, Avery let go off him and let him fall back none too gently against the wall; Harry winced. "Just shut up. I'm not interested in your conversation, Potter. You're only here for one reason. No, two actually." When Harry didn't respond, he said, "You're going to help me prove to Riddle that you're his weakness, because he'll go to pieces if you disappear."

Harry went cold. "What else?" he bit out.

Avery grinned. "You're also my means to gaining his respect. Because you'll be helping _me_ find the location of the Chamber of Secrets."

* * *

Tom waited ten minutes beyond the time he had expected to see Harry, and then went to check with Minerva and Pansy whether they'd seen him. They hadn't, and instantly paled when he told them about Avery.

"We have to tell the headmaster!" Minerva exclaimed, wringing her hands. "If Avery got to him, he could be anywhere in the castle."

A distraught Pansy watched a series of emotions flickering over Tom's features. Some of them had her doubting that Avery would come out of this alive, should he be mad enough to hurt Harry; she couldn't manage to feel bad about that. "What do you think we should do, Tom?" she asked carefully.

Tom glanced at her. "Look for him ourselves. There's nothing in this castle Avery knows about that I don't." He told them that Thoth was with Harry, and if there was a way the snake could get out, he would get back to Tom's room and tell him where Harry was. "I need for one of you to wait there."

Neither Pansy nor Minerva wanted to just sit around while Harry was missing, but in the end, Pansy pleaded with Minerva to wait, citing that Harry was her cousin after all, so she should definitely help search for him.

"Ah cannae speak Parseltongue," Minerva said. "Nor can you, for that matter." She frowned. "Tom?"

Tom ran trembling fingers through his hair, sighing. "Sorry, I'm not thinking clearly."

Pansy reached out and hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder to squeeze it. "We'll find him." When he nodded, clearly trying very hard to keep his composure, she suggested, "Let's all search, and we'll meet in your room at intervals to check for Thoth and figure out where to look next."

Tom agreed, and Minerva was relieved to not be left out of the search.

* * *

"What's this?" Harry asked, squinting at the scrunched up parchment Avery - once again his sneering, far less attractive self - had shoved into his hands.

"Salazar Slytherin's instructions to finding the Chamber of Secrets. Unfortunately, as you can see, it's in Parseltongue."

Harry scoffed. "Actually, I can't see a bloody thing in here."

Avery cast a lighting charm to hover in the air in front of Harry. "You're not asking what the Chamber is. I assume Riddle told you then," he said angrily. "Took years for him to say a word about it to me, and he's gone quiet about it ages ago; no idea how close he is to finding it. So that's your idea of pillow talk, is it?"

Harry laughed humourlessly. "I guess you'll never know. Tom wouldn't have you anywhere near his pillow, would he?" He couldn't help but give Avery a challenging look. "That's your problem, isn't it? Merlin, you're pathetic."

Avery let out an angry growl. "Read the fucking parchment, Potter, and keep your mouth shut until you have something useful to say. And maybe you'll live to see the sun rise tomorrow."

Harry glanced up. The room didn't even have the window to the lake the other dungeon rooms possessed. He looked down at the parchment and, unsurprisingly, it looked to be written in plain English. Even so, if he wasn't well aware where the Chamber of Secrets was located, he doubted he could make any sense out of Slytherin's puzzling and intentionally confusing instructions. He felt a sense of pride in Tom's abilities. "Can't read it," he stated, dropping it in front of him carelessly.

"I know you're a Parselmouth, Potter." Avery glowered at him. "Though I can't imagine why you of all people. You're nothing special from what I've seen."

Harry merely shrugged.

Avery raised his wand. " _Imperio!_ Translate the parchment, now."

Harry won the brief internal struggle. "Sorry, doesn't work on me," he declared.

Looking positively murderous, Avery shouted, "This will. _Crucio!_ "

Harry bit his lip as he doubled over in pain, which stopped as suddenly as it had begun with a scream from Avery's lips. When his eyes refocussed, Harry saw him clutching his leg with an expression of intense agony, his wand falling from his limp fingers. He blinked down at the dark floor, just making out Thoth's luminous skin. He watched the long tail flick the wand to clatter across the stone floor towards him, and lunged forward to pick it up. "Accio wand!" he yelled, and his own wand flew back into his hand as well.

The snake, having struck a second time at Avery's leg, hissed out, "I will get help for Massster!"

"Gap under the door. Quickly! Find Tom!"

"Yes, Massster!". And Thoth slivered out of the room and was gone.

"Was that your fucking snake, Potter?" A very pale Avery hissed. "Damn you. You'll die for that."

Harry scrambled to his feet, staggering as his circulation raced back into his limbs. He was pointing Avery's wand as well as his own at him. "If I were you, I'd start hoping Tom really has changed, or I wouldn't give much for your chances."

At this, Avery grew even paler, swaying unsteadily. "Look, Potter," he groaned. "Put in a good word for me. I didn't actually harm you."

"You've used two Unforgivables on me," Harry panted, still recovering from the brief Cruciatus. He pointed his wand at the closed door and threw every unlocking spell he knew at it. Eventually, it flew open, and Avery turned to try and run, but Harry stupefied him and left him lying across the doorstep, scrambling past him and down the corridor.

"Harry!" Tom was running towards him, pale and horrified. "Harry, are you okay?"

"Fine!" Harry called out, stumbling forward into Tom's arms where he was held tight for one wonderful moment, before Tom pulled back to glare over his shoulder. "Tom, no!"

Tom was nearly blind with rage, extricating himself from Harry's grasp to stride towards a prone and terrified looking Avery, wand aimed at him.

Pansy and Minerva came running down the corridor. Pansy made straight for Harry, while Minerva kept following Tom, calling after him to not do anything he'd regret.

"I won't regret this," Tom spat, wand tip two feet from Avery's blank face. "Avada... Ava…" His hand was shaking, and he was cursing himself silently for not being able to do it.

" _No!_ " Harry screamed, collapsing on the stones. He was in agony. His scar hurt as though a branding iron was being pressed to his head. Hot tears were streaming down his cheeks, his teeth clenching so hard that his jaw nearly locked.

Pansy was kneeling on the floor next to him, weeping silently while trying to hold him, helpless to do anything else.

"Harry!" Tom yelled, running back towards him, dropping his wand as he skidded to a halt and fell to his knees at Harry's side. "Oh god, Harry. No! I'm sorry. Harry, I stopped. It's all right." He gathered Harry in his arms, swaying him gently. "What's happening, Harry? I'll do anything!" His voice was shaking. "Please, Harry, what can I do?"

"Don't. Know." Harry gasped, looking up at Tom, and as his forehead brushed past Tom's cheek, the pain was dulled ever so slightly. "Please, Tom. The scar… touch it. Please!"

Tom laid his palm over Harry's scar, which looked paler than ever before, and instantly, Harry was able to breathe again. He was gulping in air, clinging to Tom, who soothed his hand over the scar and pressed his lips to it alternately.

Harry shivered, his fingers tangled in the folds of Tom's robes. The pain was fading away to a dull murmur. "Tom," he sighed, resting against him.

Pansy was hiccuping softly. "Is he… Harry, are you all right?"

Harry managed to nod, and she took a shuddering breath.

Minerva saw Tom holding a once more calming Harry in his arms, and ran back to join them after ensuring that Avery wasn't going anywhere by way of enough magical ropes to bind a dragon. She sank down next to Pansy, taking her hand and squeezing it tight while watching Tom rock Harry gently back and forth.

Tom was still kissing Harry's scar tenderly, his hand stroking the back of Harry's head. "Shh… I'm here. Everything will be all right. I love you, Harry."

Harry closed his wet eyes with a sigh. "I love you too, Tom," he whispered. "Love you so much. I'll never leave you."

Closing his eyes as he lay his head against Harry's, Tom murmured. "And I'll do anything to keep you. I'll be worthy of you, you'll see. I'll never harm anyone again, not for any reason, Harry, I swear." His lips brushed the scar softly.

A fizzle of pain shot through it, shaking Harry. Tom could feel it against the soft flesh of his lips like electricity. He drew back, his eyes wide. "Harry, it's gone!"

"What?"

Tom took Harry's hand and moved it up to where the scar used to be. "It's gone," he whispered.


	26. None but the Brave Deserves the Fair

This chapter is unapologetically teary and h/c, just so you know.  
Chapter title is from John Dryden's "Alexander's Feast".

 

* * *

 

"Harry?" Tom looked lost, at once relieved that Harry's pain had stopped and confused about the scar's now very evident connection to his own actions. "Harry, I…"

"I'll tell you, Tom. I promise." Sighing, Harry lay his head on Tom's shoulder, relaxing when Tom held him close and did not let go even when footsteps came down the corridor.

"Pansy, what's going on?" Minerva asked, completely at sea, looking back and forth between her girlfriend and Tom and Harry. Before she could get her answer, the headmaster and every teacher left at the school for the Yule celebrations were hurrying towards them.

"Miss McGonagall!" Dippet called out, looking ready to retire. "What in the name of Merlin is going on down here? There are Unforgivable curses being cast! Oh, good heavens!" He blinked at Harry, clinging to Tom and looking as if he'd been in a fight, saw that Pansy was crying silently next to Minerva, and finally, he noticed Avery lying trussed up across the doorstep of a storage chamber.

Minerva scrambled to her feet. "Headmaster. That…" She waved her hand towards Avery with a look of disgust on her face. " _Student_ over there held Harry prisoner." Her mind was racing - Unforgivables?

"Who cast the curses?" Dumbledore demanded to know.

"Avery," Harry murmured. "He used the Imperius and Cruciatus on me."

There were gasps from the teachers, and Tom held him even tighter. Professor Slughorn, whose short legs had finally allowed him to catch up, pushed Dumbledore aside to rush towards Tom and Harry. "Oh, my dear boy!" he exclaimed, squeezing Harry's shoulder. "Are you quite all right?"

"Yes, sir." Harry, with Tom's and Slughorn's help, scrambled to his feet.

Dumbledore was frowning. "I trust you can prove those claims, Mr Potter?"

Harry glared at him, but Minerva took the words right out of his mouth. "I should think Priori Incantatem on Avery's wand will do _that_ , sir." She looked more furious than anyone present had ever seen the head girl.

Dumbledore nodded. "I take it you are a witness to all this, Miss McGonagall?"

"I was here when Harry managed to escape," Minerva said. "He's been incredibly brave. And it was Tom's ingenuity which helped us find him."

Dippet was wringing his hands. "So much excitement at the school these days. Merlin! Albus, why don't you bring along Mr Avery. We must sort all this out right away. We'll check his wand and get everyone's statements in my office as soon as we can bring in someone from the Ministry."

Dumbledore agreed and went to retrieve Avery, releasing him from his Stupefy spell but leaving him tightly bound, except for his legs. He marched him past the small group, tightening his grip on Avery's arm when he jerked away on being addressed by Tom.

"You were wrong, Avery," Tom stated cooly. "Harry's not my weakness." He tightened his arm around Harry. "He's my strength."

Dumbledore's brows rose, while Avery started muttering useless threats and vile curses until Dumbledore moved him along none too gently.

Slughorn was beaming from ear to ear. "I say! Well, I'm quite proud of both of you, boys. Knew right away you were good news, Harry." By the grins on Pansy's and Minerva's faces, they shared the sentiment.

Harry and Tom were oblivious to everything, lost in each other's eyes.

* * *

It took hours to sort out the mess, leaving everyone exhausted. At the end of it all, Aurors removed Avery to Azkaban for the use of two Unforgivable curses, kidnapping via the use of polyjuice potion, and attempting to open the notorious Chamber of Secrets. Harry, Avery's own wand, and a bottle of Veritaserum, plus some very specific questions, had provided all the evidence required.

On leaving the headmaster's office, Dumbledore held Tom back with a hand on his arm. "It seems I have indeed misjudged you, Mr Riddle. Both of you." He nodded to Harry as well. "I owe you my sincerest apologies."

Harry gave a slight smile and nodded, and Tom said politely, "Thank you, professor."

Slughorn ushered them ahead of himself. "So proud of you both," he repeated for the umpteenth time while they made their way down the spiral staircase. "To think someone got that close to opening the Chamber! Never quite believed it really existed, to tell you the truth. Who knows what might have happened, if you weren't such a strong personality, Harry m'boy." He flinched at the very thought. "Resisting the Imperius Curse indeed! I say, to have two Slytherins prevent Salazar's Chamber being opened - what a thing to get the other houses talking!" He chuckled gleefully. "Care to join me for a celebratory drink?"

Harry smiled, his hand sliding into Tom's as they excused themselves citing tiredness.

"Yes, of course. We'll celebrate some other day. We'll make it a real feast." Slughorn clapped them both on the shoulder and shuffled off.

With a sigh, Harry looked up at Tom. "Are you awake enough for us to talk, Tom?"

"Yes." Tom squeezed his hand. "I'm trying to piece everything together in my head, and my conclusions are getting more and more worrying." When Harry didn't laugh that off, he bit his lip. "It really is bad, isn't it?"

Harry reached up to stroke his cheek. "Not anymore." Tom frowned, but Harry pulled him along. "Come on, I'll tell you everything."

* * *

They'd lit the fire in Tom's room and were sitting on the bed cross-legged and facing each other.

"I want you to use Legilimency on me," Harry said softly.

"What? No!" Tom protested, flinching.

"Please, hear me out." Harry sighed. "There's a lot you need to know, and I don't want to miss anything, or leave you with any doubts. This is the only way we'll both know that I've told you everything."

Tom looked pale and worried. "But Harry--"

"Please, Tom."

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Tom finally nodded.

"I've had this done to me before, don't worry," Harry reassured him.

"Why?" Tom asked. "Who would--"

"You'll see that, too." Harry reached for Tom's hands and looked deep into his eyes. "Go on."

Tom squeezed his hands and softly said, "Legilimens."

* * *

"No, surely not! Tom - a Dark Lord?" Minerva was pacing back and forth in front of Pansy, wringing her hands. "I know he's been quite nasty towards muggleborns in the past, and he's a bit arrogant, but that's a long way from becoming a Dark Lord. There must be a mistake, Pansy. I'm sure he's a good boy at heart; he's looked out for me in the past many times."

Pansy sighed. "It took years for things to get that bad, Minnie." She pulled Minerva down next to her. "Do you think Harry and I would have come back here as we did, if it hadn't been our last resort?"

Minerva was shaking. "Merlin, you're serious."

"Yes, Minnie."

"He really killed Harry's parents?"

Pansy nodded sadly.

"Oh, I don't want to believe that." Minerva covered her face with her hands and cried, and Pansy pulled her into her arms.

* * *

Harry knew the exact moment when Tom recognised the creature haunting Harry's memories as himself. The hands in his began to tremble and grow cold, and Tom's breathing turned into tense, gasping huffs. Harry made no effort to cloak or emphasise anything, simply allowing Tom to glide through his memories as smoothly as water; there was nothing probing or intrusive about the way Tom scanned his mind - it was hesitant, almost tender. The only pain was Tom's increasing distress.

"No!" he finally exclaimed. "Enough. Please, no more." Tom closed the connection, far sooner than Harry would have expected, and sat staring at him. "No. Oh no. God, no…" When Harry was about to speak, Tom reached out a shaking hand and picked up his wand.

"Tom?" Harry whispered in confusion when Tom pressed the wand into his hand, with the tip towards himself, and bowed his head. Harry held the wand in numb fingers, staring back and forth between it and Tom.

Tom's voice was broken when he said, "Do it, Harry. You have every right. There's nothing I can say or do that would make any difference."

Harry stared at Tom's hunched over and beaten posture and cursed under his breath, before flinging the wand across the room.

Tom raised his red-rimmed eyes and blinked at him, but when Harry leaned forward to pull him into his arms, he flinched back.

"Tom! I'm not here to kill you!" Harry cried out. "Why don't you know that? Didn't you see…"

"I saw enough." Tears were streaming down Tom's cheeks, but he didn't allow Harry to wipe them away. "I can't watch anymore. Please, Harry, I have no right to ask for mercy. I don't want mercy. But please, end this now."

Harry's heart was breaking, seeing Tom like that. "Look at me, Tom. The scar is gone. _Gone_ , don't you understand? You'll never be… _that_!" He was shouting in his desperation to be understood.

"How can that matter?" Tom asked desperately. " _You_ will always remember me that way. You'll never forget that I… _I_ killed your parents. Harry, how can you even stand to have me touch you? To look at me?"

Harry sighed, trying to force some calm into his voice. "Please, Tom, I beg you - look at everything. Look until you see that I'm not here to kill you. Look at my memories after coming here as well. Please, if you love me!"

Tom sobbed, but allowed Harry to take his hands again and continued probing his mind. This time, he combed Harry's memories right up until that very day.

* * *

"Do you hate me now?" Pansy asked hesitantly. "Both of us?" She scrubbed at her eyes, for once not caring about the state of her make-up.

Minerva shook her head, taking in Pansy's smudged eyes and quivering lips. She knew it would take her a while to get her head around everything Pansy had told her, but in the meantime, she couldn't help but think that Harry and Tom had worse to get through. And that Pansy and Harry had come with nothing but the best intentions, and it certainly looked as if their sacrifices were paying off. "No, dearie. I don't hate you." She smiled hesitantly. "It looks to me as if we're your new family - Tom, Harry and I. I suppose I'll just have to love you even more than I do already."

Pansy threw herself into her arms and stayed there until they were both well and truly done crying their eyes out.

* * *

Harry could feel Tom calming down gradually the closer to the present he got. He felt Tom's confusion at Harry's and Pansy's plot. He felt him lingering on Harry's memory of first seeing him here, in the past. Harry watching over him night after night while he suffered through his nightmares. Harry smashing the miniature crystal ball which would have taken him back to his own time. He lingered on Harry's talks with Pansy, gasped when Harry told Pansy that he couldn't live without him anymore, and by the time he arrived at Harry's encounter with Avery and the resulting loss of the scar, tears were rolling down his cheeks again. He slipped out of Harry's mind like a whisper.

"You do love me," he murmured, blinking and wiping at his eyes. "Harry, you really do. Despite everything."

Harry's eyes were swimming, spilling over when he nodded furiously. He scrambled into Tom's arms, and this time, Tom allowed it, clinging to him as if Harry was his lifeline. "This, Tom… this is our new life. Everything else was another reality. Another world. All those people you-- They don't exist yet. My parents don't exist yet. None of it will happen, and my memories of it fade more with each day. And I forgive you everything, Tom."

This seemed to distress Tom more. "Harry, I've been horrid since I was a child! I've hurt--"

"Hush, Tom. Everything. Do you hear me? It's all gone now."

Tom rested his head on Harry's shoulder with a sigh of exhaustion. "I'm numb. I don't know what to say."

"Just tell me you love me." Harry nuzzled his neck. "And that you forgive me for keeping it all from you for so long."

Tom didn't have to think about that at all. "I have nothing to forgive you, Harry. Even if I didn't already love you for a million reasons, I would fall in love with you now for allowing me another chance."

Harry looked up at him with a smile. He cupped Tom's wet face in his hands and kissed him tenderly, tasting their mingled tears. "This is the beginning," he finally whispered. "We start here, Tom. This life belongs only to you and me. No ghosts from the past _or_ future have any say in it."

Tom managed a hesitant smile, and when Harry mirrored it, he kept smiling. "You must be the most extraordinary person alive."

"No, Tom. I think that would be you." Harry's smile widened when Tom blinked at him in confusion. "I came here as I've always been - full of dumb luck and stubborn. But you…" He touched Tom's cheek. "You turned your back on a path that looked set. You've made people like you, trust you and admire you. You're the most precious thing in the world to me, you know."

Tom sighed. "I adore you, Harry. I'll spend every day of my life showing you how much."

The tears in Harry's eyes now had nothing to do with sadness. " _Our_ life, Tom."

"Yes." Tom lay back exhaustedly with his arms around Harry. He pulled the duvet over them both, and they huddled close, eventually falling asleep with smiles on their faces.

That night, Tom's nightmares of being alone and abandoned came to an end forever.


	27. Wide Awake

When Tom woke up close to two o'clock the following afternoon, fully dressed and rumpled, he panicked, recalling the terrible things he'd seen in Harry's mind the night before. But then, a moment later, the very real warmth of Harry in his arms soothed him, and he sighed and snuggled closer.

"Hmm." Harry smiled into the pillow, pressing back against Tom. "Awake?"

"No," Tom whispered. "You?"

"No. I'm waiting for you to wake me up." Harry felt Tom's smile against his warm skin at that. "I could be Sleeping Beauty, and you could be my prince, waking me up with a kiss."

"What?" Tom sounded amused.

"Don't you know the fairy tale?"

"No. Is it… is it muggle?" Tom asked carefully.

Harry nodded slowly, uncertainly.

Tom held him closer. "They didn't bother with fairy tales at the orphanage. But I want you to tell me about things like that, Harry. Teach me all about muggles. I have a lot to learn and understand."

"Okay." Harry smiled with relief. "Starting with Sleeping Beauty. Which means you have to wake me from my hundred year long sleep with a kiss."

"One hundred years?" Tom asked incredulously. "Well, we must have slept at least twelve hours. You should be wide awake and very well rested."

Harry stretched like a lazy cat, purring in pleasure when Tom's arms wrapped more tightly around his middle from behind. "I am, actually. And very comfortable." He turned to look back over his shoulder to find Tom smiling at him softly. "Love you."

"Love you too." Tom kissed him, awkward angle and all. When their lips parted, he murmured, "You feel so right in my arms, especially when you're just warm from sleep and not feverish."

"I bet you could drive my temperature up in no time though, if you wanted to," Harry teased.

"If?" Tom snorted softly.

Harry smirked. "Er… Tom, why are we fully dressed?"

"We fell asleep that way, I think." Tom scrubbed at his face, a slight hint of stubble on his chin making a rasping sound. "We should probably get out of these clothes."

"We should." Harry's eyes roamed over Tom's chin, and he reached up to trail his fingertips along his jaw. "Though you're quite lovely, all rumpled and stubbly like this."

"Not as lovely as you. Sleeping Beauty indeed." Tom stopped Harry's hand and kissed his palm, then pulled Harry's arms up and wrapped them around his own neck. "I should have slept terribly, but I probably never had a better sleep in my life. Is that awful?"

"No. It's exactly right." Harry smiled reassuringly. "I love falling asleep with you. And waking up with you, knowing I've been in your arms all night."

Tom pressed him into the mattress, and they both sighed with pleasure. When Tom bent his head and kissed Harry's neck, then licked and nibbled at it, Harry giggled. "I want to devour you," Tom whispered huskily.

A gasp. "Yes, please."

They stared at each other, both of them blushing, just a little.

"I feel dirty," Harry said.

Tom chuckled. "Do you now?"

"No, I mean, actually. I spent most of yesterday in a closet." He bit his lip.

Tom grew serious. "Oh! I'm sorry, you're right. I have an idea."

"Whatever you want," Harry offered. When Tom suddenly sat up and climbed out of bed, Harry grunted in displeasure. "I meant, whatever you want that doesn’t involve any space between us."

Tom grinned. "I couldn't agree more. Come with me." He pulled Harry out of bed and led him across the room to his bathroom.

"Oh." Harry blushed, stopping at the door.

"There's enough room for two in my shower." Tom's voice was hesitant. "Okay?"

"Okay." Harry grinned. "Just… can I use the room by myself for a moment?"

Tom, understanding, smiled and stayed behind, and when Harry returned a couple of minutes later, he too went inside on his own.

When he reappeared in the doorway, he held his hand out to Harry and pulled him back inside. The room was a smaller version of the dorm bathroom, with a small tub but a reasonably sized shower cubicle. The tiles and fixtures were green and chrome, and there were fluffy towels everywhere.

Tom stopped Harry with a hand on his shoulder. "May I undress you?"

Harry nodded. He sighed when Tom's long fingers unbuttoned his shirt from the top down, and tried not to be embarrassed by his obvious erection while his trousers were being undone.

There was a heated flush on Tom's face throughout, and when Harry's last item of clothing slipped down his strong legs - a pair of plain white boxers - Tom nipped at his own lip before meeting his eyes.

Harry smiled and started on Tom's clothes, his breathing speeding up with each inch of skin revealed. "God, you're so gorgeous," he murmured, leaning in to kiss the dip between Tom's collarbones, his chin brushing the faintest sprinkling of hairs as he moved down to the centre of his chest. "Your heart is racing."

"It's only there at all because of you," Tom said softly, stroking over his hair.

Harry stopped mid-kiss and reached up around Tom's neck. "No," he said very softly. "I might have jump-started it, but it was there all along." He pressed his lips to Tom's, leaning into him, and arms came up around him. Their groans parted their lips, and a determined tongue was in Harry's mouth, seeking out his as they stumbled their way - Tom directing Harry backwards - to the shower cubicle.

Harry slid open the door fumbling behind his back, then all but fell inside, his back hitting the cold tile wall.

He hissed, and Tom's arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him against his warm, naked body, while he used his free hand to turn on the shower. Cold water rained down on them, and Tom twisted Harry away from under it, letting it hit his own back and biting his lip to keep from hissing in shock at the cold.

Harry cringed, but a moment later, the stream of water turned warm, and Tom's sigh of relief caused Harry to smile again. "Time to make steam," he murmured.

"What?" Tom asked with a smile.

"Thoth calls it that when you have a shower." Harry smirked. "I rather like the idea."

"There'll be a lot more steam with you in here." Tom twisted the showerhead to hit the back wall for a moment, before pushing Harry against its now warm, wet surface and kissing him, his tongue thrusting into his mouth in deep, lazy strokes until Harry was whimpering and his erection twitching against Tom's.

"I don't think I can wait for either of us to get clean," Tom said breathlessly, looking down into Harry's unfocussed eyes. When Harry was about to ask what he meant, he slid to his knees, his hands trailing down Harry's sides and resting on his hips as he looked up at him. He kissed Harry's navel, his stubbled chin rasping across the skin of his belly and making him shudder in pleasure as he trailed kisses down the thin line of hair until he reached Harry's erection.

Harry cried out when Tom's full lips closed over him without preamble, and slim fingers dug into his hips. He arched his neck and hooked his fingers over the top edge of the cubicle for support, water splashing on his chin, neck and chest, raining into his half-open mouth and forcing him to swallow convulsively if he didn't want to do without oxygen or move. And he really did not. All he was truly aware of was the sensation of a clever tongue tormenting his flesh, soft lips sliding up and down his length and sucking him deeper into Tom's mouth. He tried to say Tom's name, but instead gurgled something incomprehensible around a mouth full of water, and Tom's soft chuckle vibrated up his arousal and through his entire body when he came, explosively, much too soon, blinking water from his eyes to watch Tom swallow and release him with visible reluctance. "Oh… god," he finally managed.

Tom wrapped his arms around him and, still on his knees at Harry's feet, kissed his belly before resting his cheek against it.

Harry's fingers slid lazily through Tom's wet hair, tangling in it as he rested his back against the shower tiles, before tugging a little. "Come up here, I need to kiss you."

Tom rose with a soft smile and leaned in to be kissed for several long minutes until they were utterly breathless.

"That was wonderful," Harry murmured against his lips. "Is there anything you're not good at?"

"I'll let you be the judge of that," Tom offered, reaching for the herb soap Harry was so fond of. He soaped up a sponge and began at Harry's neck, moving it down and across his body in slow circles while shielding him from the stream of water with his back until his torso was covered in soap. "Raise your legs, one at a time," he directed.

Harry hooked his left leg over Tom's hip, hissing when Tom's erection brushed the inside of his thigh and his own arousal returned in an instant. He whimpered when Tom ran the soapy sponge down and around his foot, then back up his calf and thigh, finishing with a sweep across his hip and left buttock before allowing Harry to put his foot back on the floor.

"The other leg." Tom's voice was deep and raw, and Harry obeyed eagerly. The sponge moved across his skin, but fell from Tom's nerveless fingers the moment his hardness slipped fully between Harry's legs. He gasped, closing his eyes for a moment, Harry's leg held hooked over his hip by his shaking hand on the back of the thigh. "I can't wait for… this," he emphasized his meaning with a gentle forward thrust, sliding along the sensitive skin of Harry's inner thigh and bumping up against his perineum.

Harry was panting too hard to be able to speak, clutching onto Tom's back desperately, fearing to break the smooth skin with his nails.

Each tiny shift in Tom's stance was causing a new sensation, and then he felt Tom's hands leave his skin and return a moment later slick with soap, one cupping his buttock, the other moving between them and closing around his renewed erection.

"Tom!" Harry cried out, jolting when he felt Tom's fingers sliding over his flesh in both locations. "Oh, that's… Oh!"

Tom's fingers stroked up and down his length a few times, before drifting beneath it to coat every part of him thoroughly in the freshly scented soap. "It's best to be thorough," he reasoned huskily, removing the hand between them to pull Harry's soap slick body hard against himself, letting the hand on his buttock slide between his cheeks.

"Thorough… Abso… Oh Merlin … lutely!" Harry gasped when Tom's finger slid downwards, moving in a slick line across his opening, ignoring it utterly. He mewled in disappointment, pushing back when the finger slid upwards again and, soapy as it was, popped inside just a little bit.

They both froze, shaking hard.

"I have an idea," Tom panted.

"Oh yes, me too!" Harry confirmed eagerly. "Let's pretend it's your birthday now."

Tom puffed out a shaky laugh. "I wouldn't last a second inside you right now." He gasped, both of them twitching against each other at his words.

"Then what…" Harry closed his eyes, but found it intensified the sensation to a point where his brain turned to mush. His entire world had narrowed down to Tom's soap-slick fingertip inside him.

"I know the perfect place now," Tom said huskily.

Harry's chuckle was a little bit hysterical. "Couldn't agree more."

Tom grinned, kissing Harry's feverish cheek. "That's not what I meant, though it's true. I meant, the perfect place to do this properly for the first time. Somewhere we can take our time and be comfortable. I can make everything just right and be absolutely sure I won't hurt you."

The care implied in Tom's words nearly undid Harry more than the feel of the single digit trapped inside him. "Anywhere you want, Tom. Any way you want."

Tom smiled, crooking his fingers a little and making Harry gasp out. "But for now, I can still tease you." And he did, sliding his finger in and out of Harry with ease, leaving him panting and clutching onto him. "You're so beautiful like this. And you feel… you…" His breath stuttered to a halt when Harry clenched his muscles around him, and even with nothing but the friction of Harry's groin against his, he knew he was seconds from release. "Only another moment," he gasped.

Harry wanted to do some teasing of his own. "And then you're going to come, thinking of being inside me."

"Yes…" Tom's eyes closed.

"Thinking of how you'll be sliding into me like your finger is doing right now, so deeply."

"Yes… yes!" Tom's mouth dropped open.

"That feels so good, Tom!" Harry purred. "Deeper. As deep as you can."

Pushing his finger in as far as it could go, Tom panted against the side of Harry's wet neck. "Oh Harry…"

"Yes, just like that. It'll be perfect. Oh, I can't wait to feel you inside me."

"Ah!" Tom grunted, bucking against him, his finger twisting accidentally and in just the right way.

Harry cried out his pleasure, tightening around the intrusion as he gushed his release between them. He twitched and jerked until there was a slick mess between them that was only partially soap, and Tom's erection slid through it just so, and he clenched around the finger again.

"Harry!" Tom groaned, coming and thrusting his finger a few more times, deeply and rapidly, imagining himself in its place as he ruined his careful cleaning of Harry. "Love… you…" he finally panted with exhaustion, slumping against him.

Harry caught him, but his arms were slippery with soap, his entire body was slippery with soap, and the floor of the shower was slippery as well, and with a loud crash and flailing arms banging into the glass cubicle, they tumbled to the shower floor. Trying to shield each other from getting hurt, forgetting about the built-in cushioning charm, they ended up on the spongy floor with their limbs tangled around one another.

Tom snickered against Harry's neck, holding him tight, and Harry started to giggle, and couldn't stop, scrambling to straddle Tom's lap where he kneeled and trying to kiss him, but failing because they were both too slippery and cackling like lunatics.

The door flew open with a shout of "Alohomora!" and Minerva came running inside, followed closely by Pansy. Both of them stopped dead, blinking owlishly at the sight of Tom and Harry, naked and soapy and who knew what else, trying to climb inside each other on the shower floor.

"Shit!" Harry yelped, blinking back. His giggles should stop, he knew, but Tom's groan of embarrassment only made matters worse. "Do you mind?" he yelled to the girls between giggles.

"Well…" Minerva started, gaping at them, eyes alight with an unholy glitter.

"Come on, Minnie. I told you they'd be perfectly all right. They're fine." Pansy, even while tugging at Minnie to drag her out of the bathroom, couldn't help but keep looking back and smirking. "Very fine indeed."

"Oh my God, go away!" Harry all but shrieked, clinging to Tom.

Tom looked back over his shoulder at them, and had barely started to say "Obliv…" before the girls had dashed from the room like a shot.

When his eyes met Harry's again, Tom said, "I'm not leaving this room. Ever."

"Suits me." Harry wriggled a little on Tom's thighs, and both of them groaned out loud, but in the end, neither wanted to chance their friends returning to make sure they really were all right.

* * *

Finally clean, Tom left the bathroom in his black and silver striped bathrobe to get another one for Harry from next door, and returned a moment later bright red. "They're laughing themselves silly out there."

Harry sighed, allowing Tom to wrap him in the second, slightly too long, robe. "They're just relieved we weren't… you know." He grew serious.

"Hurting each other," Tom finished, and Harry nodded. By mutual consent, they leaned in and shared a long, tender kiss, before deciding to join the girls.

There was a moment of discomfort when Tom and Harry entered the room, both Pansy and Minerva sitting side by side in the wide armchair, on the very edge.

"Sorry about… you know," Pansy had the decency to blush. "We hadn't heard from you all day, and we knocked for ages, and then we heard all that noise and--"

"S'okay," Harry assured her. "You were worried."

She nodded, and Minerva cleared her throat. "You've had a talk, then?"

Exchanging a glance with Harry, Tom nodded. "Oh yes, we did." He looked at Minerva uncomfortably. "You know all about it too, don't you?"

"Near enough all, I imagine," she said, sighing. Then she stood up and crossed the room to stand in front of Tom. "Don't rightly know what to say except 'silly boy', and don't you dare ever do anything we three wouldn't approve of, but then you haven't actually done anything, and… This is more than a might awkward!" She was rubbing her arms, looking up at Tom, hoping he'd know what to do or say, because she had no idea.

Tom gave her a lop-sided smile, said "I'm so sorry about the distress, Minerva. There'll be nothing but honesty from now on." And then he hugged her.

She squeaked for a moment, never having known Tom to initiate contact of any kind with anyone but Harry, but then returned the hug, sniffling into his bathrobe.

Harry looked on with a smile, then saw Pansy approaching them. "We're all okay then?" she asked softly.

Tom released Minerva, smiled at Pansy, and wrapped his arms around Harry.

"Yes," Harry said without hesitation, beaming up at him. "We definitely are."


	28. A Year to Remember

When the four of them entered the Great Hall for dinner, finding the few isolated students left behind over Yule scattered at their respective house tables, they resolutely settled down at the head of the Gryffindor table together. There were hushed whispers and confused looks, though the teachers actually present simply observed them curiously.

Minerva leaned across the table. "Last chance for Hogsmeade tomorrow, if you need presents."

Harry and Tom gaped at her, then at each other. "I forgot all about that!" Harry muttered at the same moment Tom said, "It completely slipped my mind!"

Pansy chuckled. "This is why men and women really aren't suited to each other. This way, no one remembers something the other forgot."

"To be fair, Pansy," Harry said, helping himself to Yorkshire Pudding. "We've had a few other things on our minds, lately."

She looked a bit sheepish at that. "True enough. Well, want to go with us to Hogsmeade tomorrow then?"

Minerva cleared her throat. "I have another idea. Why don't we Apparate to Edinburgh? I always usually go there in December with my parents." They knew her parents were overseas - Minerva's father was a senior wizarding archaeologist and usually travelled about somewhere exotic. "The shopping streets are always decorated so beautifully. It'll be fun."

Tom blinked. "Minerva McGonagall, are you suggesting we break school rules?"

"Aye, I am." Minerva grinned, and Pansy giggled next to her.

"Sounds good," said Harry. "As long as we don't end up somewhere altogether different again. Tom?"

Tom nodded. "I do need presents." He smiled at Harry.

"Not for me you don't," Harry murmured. "I have everything I could possibly want."

Minerva and Pansy grinned. "You too are a wee pair of lovebirds," Minerva teased.

"Not _that_ wee," Pansy muttered with a smirk, causing Minerva to shriek with laughter, Tom to flush scarlet, and Harry to inhale a forkful of gravy-drenched pastry.

* * *

Wizarding Edinburgh was exactly how Minerva had described it. The shopping district was an assortment of narrow, snow-dusted lanes, the ancient shops groaning under the weight of their silver and gold decorations. There was a choir singing somewhere, and every few shop doors, they were assaulted by the smells of freshly brewed tea, mulled wine or cinnamon buns pouring out into the street from a café or bakery.

"This was a very good idea," Pansy said approvingly, sliding her arm into Minerva's.

"How do we do this?" Harry asked, looking around curiously. "We can't buy presents if we all go together."

They agreed that he and Tom would shop for the girls, while they went off together to buy for them. They'd meet for a break at the cosy looking tea shop in front of which they'd Apparated, before splitting up differently to find their remaining presents.

Five minutes later, Harry and Tom were considering their options while standing in front of a ladies' boutique. "I've no idea what sort of gear women buy, and those two are too fussy to get just anything," Harry stated.

Tom smiled. "I agree. Let's not even try. What else are they both interested in?"

"Books," Harry stated immediately. "I'm forever doomed to have bookworms for friends." He smiled as he said it, surprised when Tom looked upset.

"You miss your friends a lot," Tom said softly, his hand stroking up Harry's forearm soothingly.

There was a lump in Harry's throat when he said, "Yes, I do." Tom's hand slid down his arm and into his hand while his soft grey eyes watched Harry's expression. "But I know they're fine without me," Harry hastened to reassure. "I need you much more than they need me. And I've been thinking how my staying here for good will change things… where they are. And, well…"

Tom gasped with a sudden realisation. "They won't remember you. It'll be as if you'd never been there." He sighed deeply. "Oh, Harry. I'm so, so sorry."

Harry squeezed his hand and smiled. "Please don't be. I'd rather they don't remember I ever existed, than that they should miss me."

Tom swallowed. "But you'll still miss _them_."

Harry pulled him behind a shop and out of sight and hearing of last-minute frantic shoppers. "I'll always miss them, but I'll know they'll be safe." He cringed at that. "I mean--"

"I know what you mean. From me," Tom said sadly. "It's only the truth, Harry."

Nodding, feeling uncomfortable, Harry continued. "They'll have good lives, without a friend who always gets himself and them into trouble. And to be honest, I was beginning to become a bit of a third wheel. I never had anyone of my own. No one who just…" He blushed.

Tom smiled hesitantly. "Belonged to you?" When Harry nodded, his smile widened.

It started to snow, silent specks falling around them and landing on the tips of their noses and the tops of their woolly caps.

Harry returned Tom's smile. "Now I have everything. Good friends _and_ someone to love." He reached up to cup Tom's cheek in his gloved hand. "And take care of."

Tom leaned in and kissed him, their cold, snow-dusted lips warming against each other even before their tongues slipped over them and into each other's mouths. Tom's arms wrapped around Harry under his open coat and pulled him close.

Harry sighed contentedly into the sweet warmth of Tom's mouth, his hands around his neck, fingers tangling in tendrils of black hair escaping from under his grey wool cap. And suddenly, he felt so happy and relieved, he couldn't help smiling against Tom's lips, which curved to match.

When their mouths parted, both of them gasping and flushed, they were still smiling.

"We should probably…" Tom began, sweeping snowflakes from Harry's cheek with his fingertips.

"… find some presents." Harry sighed at the caress.

"Hm." Tom tilted his head. "Your eyes always sparkle after I kiss you, did you know that?"

Harry blushed. "I'm not surprised. You wouldn't be either, if you knew what it was like, being kissed by you." He grinned. "I'm surprised I don't sparkle all over."

Tom laughed softly. He leaned forward to kiss the tip of Harry's nose, then breathed against his ear, "We had better get these presents, before I find I want to watch you keep sparkling instead."

Harry sighed dramatically. "Well, if we must."

* * *

"Do you suppose they're even trying to find us presents?" Minerva asked Pansy as they entered a changing room at Madame Hestia's together. "I fully expect they're snogging each other silly in some side alley."

Pansy giggled. "To be fair, we're not exactly bending over backwards finding Quidditch gear and Advanced Magic books."

"Those are good ideas though for when we leave here," Minerva said before pulling the curtain shut between them and the shop. "Which will be _after_ I've had a taste of that gingerbread you've been snacking on all the way here." With that, she pushed Pansy against the flimsy cubicle wall, kissing her frantically while unbuttoning her clothes at a very efficient pace.

"Minnie, we don't have time for this," Pansy panted between kisses, making no effort at all to stop her, her own fingers flying frantically over the row of tiny buttons at the front of Minerva's Tweed dress.

"We need to undress so we can try these things on," Minerva said reasonably as she unsnapped Pansy's bra. She hooked her fingers into the sides of Pansy's knickers.

"No need to take those off to try on a blouse," Pansy smirked. Her fingers tangled with Minerva's at her hips.

"You're right at that," Minerva agreed, rather too easily for Pansy's liking. When she smirked and slipped her fingers under the thin green silk and between Pansy's thighs, causing a stifled gasp, she added. "I'm quite sure I can do this with them on." With that, she slid down to her knees and leaned forward.

Pansy gripped Minerva's long black tresses, arched her neck, and whimpered.

* * *

Harry soon came to the conclusion that dragging Tom through shops when he knew he had virtually no money would be very uncomfortable. But then he craftily managed to steer Tom to the second hand section of a vast bookstore, and when Tom gave him a grateful smile across a stack of books they were both rifling through, Harry knew that embarrassment had been avoided.

* * *

Amazingly enough, all four of them managed to meet at the tea shop two hours later, pockets full of shrunken presents. After indulging in a pot of spiced tea and a platter of cakes between them, Minerva pulled Harry along towards a shop where she'd seen 'just the thing' for Tom, while Pansy dragged away a somewhat mournful Tom who was not at all favoured with a shopping gene.

Minerva's comment, "T'is the season to exchange _something_ besides bodily fluids," had embarrassed them both sufficiently to keep going, and another hour later, they met for a second pot of tea at the _Silver Cauldron_ ; this time, all four of them were exhausted and well and truly done in.

"Can we go back now?" Harry whined. "If I never see another shop, it'll be too soon."

"I couldn't agree more." Tom's groan was drowned out by Minerva's and Pansy's.

* * *

When they re-entered Hogwarts, house elves were rushing to and fro, putting final decorations into place, with Professor Slughorn keeping an eye on their progress, clearly fancying himself in charge of all things aesthetic.

"Ah, Tom! Harry!" he greeted. "I've been meaning to have a chat with you two. And Minerva and Pansy, you as well, I fancy."

The two Gryffindors blinked at one another in surprise. "Professor?" Minerva asked. "Is anything wrong?"

"Not at all," Slughorn quickly reassured. "On the contrary. I've had something of an idea, and I'd like to see all four of you about it. Would you care to join me in my quarters for dinner this evening? We'll make it a bit of a celebration of… well, recent events." He nudged Harry amiably. "You and Tom promised, remember?"

Harry nodded and smiled. He had a feeling he knew where this was going. "Of course, professor. We'd love to."

When the others agreed to come as well, Slughorn shuffled towards the stairs to 'get things organised with the kitchens'.

"Harry," Pansy started. "You don't suppose…" Her eyes widened. "I was never invited before!"

"What?" Minerva interjected. "Invited to what?"

Harry laughed. "I think so, Pansy. And sorry, Minerva, probably best not to give too much away. In case we're wrong."

Minerva pouted, but Tom told her that it was probably best if they didn't know every single thing about _that_ timeline. He smiled at Harry, knowing this at least would be nothing bad.

* * *

When they were sitting at a lavishly set-up table in Slughorn's quarters at eight o'clock that evening, the professor wasted no time getting to the point even as he passed around a willow basket of dinner rolls. "I've been giving some thought to setting up a little club," he informed them.

Harry grinned, while Tom asked, "What kind of club, professor?"

"A club for especially gifted students, such as yourselves." Slughorn smiled kindly into the round.

Minerva smiled. "Involving all the houses?"

Slughorn pondered this for a moment. "Yes, I rather think so. Assuming the student in question has real magical talent, I believe that would be best."

Minerva watched Pansy and Harry exchange a grin. "What would this entail?"

"You're a very organised young witch, aren't you, Minerva?" Slughorn chuckled. "At this stage, I've simply got a mind to have the odd informal get-together for good conversation and good food. It is, after all, pleasant to converse with those on the same level as oneself, magically-speaking."

"That sounds a little elitist to me," Minerva declared boldly.

Slughorn didn't seem to mind. He slapped a hand on his knee and laughed out loud. "Have some wine, dear. And don't worry. We won't be excluding any students for not being purebloods or some such nonsense. I've never gone in for that myself."

Tom cringed a little, but relaxed when Harry squeezed his hand under the table and spoke up. "Professor, may I make a suggestion?"

Slughorn peered at Harry curiously. "Certainly, m'boy."

"I realise that some students are better at magic than others, but what about using the club to organise training in different areas? Defensive classes, maybe. And specialist projects."

"Good thinking, Harry," Pansy called out. "We should offer specialised tutoring to interested students." When Slughorn looked back and forth between them curiously, she continued, "Members of the club could run tutorials on areas they're particularly good at. I'm sure we could all spare a couple of hours a week."

Tom cleared his throat. "I think it's an excellent idea. We should lessen the gap between different levels of magical knowledge, not celebrate it."

Slughorn looked surprised, but Harry was positively bouncing in his seat by this point. "Well, I had not considered that, Tom. But perhaps…" Slughorn patted his stomach. "As the founding members of… let's see, what about the Slug Club?" This was received with amused nods. "If all four of you are keen, then yes, perhaps we should consider it."

"Brilliant!" Harry beamed. It would be the best of both the Slug Club and Dumbledore's Army - well, Slughorn's Army now, and they'd all be there from the start to make it work. And maybe, along the way, some other differences could be stamped out before they would become a problem.

The creation of the Slug Club was celebrated with a round of chocolate desserts and mead, before they were all sent off with instructions to consider their areas of expertise.

"I know yours," Harry whispered to Tom on the way out, earning himself a warm chuckle. "But I'm not letting you teach that to anyone else."

Tom's soft response made Harry positively giddy. "I wouldn't dream of it, my darling."

He stopped to look up at Tom with a smile, the endearment sweeter than the treats they'd just indulged in.

"Move along." Pansy giggled behind them, playfully shoving them through the doorway. "There's plans to be made, unless you're going to tutor students in making cow's eyes at each other."

"Shh." Harry blushed, looking back into the room over his shoulder to see if Slughorn had overheard, but the professor stood by his fire-place, groaning under the added burden of an enormous feast as he bent over to throw another log on.

Pansy laughed, while Minerva observed, "You're not fooling anyone, Harry. I don't think any of us are." Calling back another "Goodnight, professor", she pulled the door shut behind them. "And I don't know about you lot, but traditions and old-fashioned attitudes be damned, I think we ought to reconsider our approach to the New Year's Ball."

Harry and Tom exchanged a look. "Agreed," they said as one.

Pansy grinned. "Suits me. I wasn't looking forward to having every girl in the room staring daggers at Minnie and me, or poisoning our drinks, thinking we might be your dates."

"Well," Minerva said, rubbing her hands gleefully. "This is certainly a year to remember. It's only fitting we should end it with a real fireworks display."


	29. Making History

I guess you can't entirely take the evil out of Tom. ;)

 

* * *

 

The week before the New Year's Ball went by very quickly. There was a lot of planning for the Slug Club taking place, both in private and with Professor Slughorn, who seemed to warm more and more to the idea of using it as a tutoring tool.

And day by day, more of the few students spending their entire holidays at Hogwarts joined the small group at whichever house table they chose to sit. At first by invitation from Minerva or Harry, but soon they would simply wander over, wait until they were greeted with a nod or a smile, and then sit down and join in the conversation. By New Year's Eve, the few teachers present had decided to abandon the teachers' table to join them there as well.

* * *

On New Year's Eve, Harry woke Tom up with a 'Happy Birthday' whispered into his ear, before moving down between his legs to wake him up properly, and between incoherent grunts and stifled moans, Tom managed to express his gratitude for the present, only to end up having his next moan mutate into a chuckle when Harry pushed the duvet back and knelt over him with a big smile, wearing nothing but a long green ribbon, artfully arranged to cover very little of him, and completed with a gift tag in the vicinity of his navel which said simply, 'Unwrap me.'

"Oh, I will," Tom promised huskily, and Harry bent down again with a devious smirk to go back to the task at hand.

That afternoon, most of Hogwarts returned just in time for the evening's ball, and Harry was only too glad to remain in Tom's room while they got ready. He stood in front of the mirrored dresser, wearing only underwear, socks, his dress shirt and a bowtie not yet done up, and admiring the ring that had been Tom's Yule present - plain silver engraved with intricate Egyptian hieroglyphs and embellished with a single, tiny emerald.

He was so engrossed in it, he didn't even hear Tom casting silencing and locking spells on the door before approaching him from behind with a smirk. When long-fingered hands came to rest on his hips, Harry looked up, smiling at Tom's reflection in the mirror. "What are you doing?"

"Warming you up for later," Tom purred, pressing himself full-length along Harry's back.

Harry lost his balance from the sudden pressure, using his hands to support himself on the dresser. Tom's hands covered them immediately, his fingers resting in the spaces between Harry's.

"I watched you eating those tiny winter raspberries after lunch," Tom murmured. "Your lips have been bright pink ever since, and I haven't been able to look at anything else."

"I've noticed," Harry teased. "You were staring at me all afternoon." He grinned. "Everyone who sat at the table with us today won't be surprised at the ball tonight."

Tom returned his smile in the mirror. "Do you like it when I stare at you, Harry, and you know I'm having very dirty thoughts about you?" Tom flicked his tongue against Harry's earlobe.

"Hmm…" Harry arched his neck, rubbing his cheek against Tom's. "Tell me what you were thinking."

"I was thinking about devouring your mouth until there'd be no hint of raspberry left." Tom pressed hard against Harry's backside, and Harry moaned and turned his head so Tom could capture his lips for a long, indulgent kiss. When their mouths parted again, Tom continued, "And then I thought about how flushed and excited you'd be by the time I was done kissing you. And how hard and needy." Tom reached in front of Harry to cup his erection, and Harry mewled softly. "Just like that." Tom chuckled low in his throat; Harry felt it right down to his toes. "I bet I could make you beg."

"Prove it," Harry challenged, smirking at Tom's reflection in the mirror. Before he could brace himself, Tom gripped his hips, pushed his legs apart, and bent him forward to lean low over the dresser until his backside stuck out provocatively. Harry squeaked with surprise.

"Are you sure, Harry?" Tom purred, his voice deep and determined, but his hands stroking the small of Harry's back and the curve of his hip soothingly over his shirt tails. "It's just pretend. I'm not going to take you right now, but you'll wish I would." He leaned over Harry, covering him entirely and pressing his erection against him. There were only thin layers of cotton and Tom's dress trousers between them.

Harry gurgled something incomprehensible.

Tom chuckled and slid his hands under the loose shirt to squeeze the firm flesh of Harry's buttocks through his underwear. He stroked and kneaded in turns and created teasing patterns of friction between Harry's skin and the cotton. Closing his eyes, Harry concentrated entirely on the sensations of Tom's fine-boned hands on his arse.

Tom traced his thumbs down the middle seam between Harry's cheeks, the cotton not giving at all under his skin where he knew Harry would be pliant and oversensitive. "I can't wait to have you like this," he growled.

Harry groaned, shifting his hips forward a little to leave more slack to his boxers, allowing the thumbs to dip a little deeper. It wasn't enough. He could feel their pressure, but not the warmth he craved so much. "Tom, I want…" he whispered, rocking back against the maddening digits. "You. Please, Tom."

"Here? Is that where you want me?" Tom rocked against him, his hardness lining up perfectly against Harry's arse, his own hiss answered by Harry's moan.

"Yes. Inside me." Harry was shivering all over. "Please."

"Harry." Tom's voice broke. "My Harry."

Harry whimpered. He reached his hand back to cover Tom's on his hip, entwining their fingers.

Tom wrapped his arm around Harry's waist and pulled him up, back against himself, not stopping his rocking motions, just holding him close, nuzzling the side of his neck and meeting Harry's eyes in the mirror. "Not right now, my darling." He sounded a little amused, but mostly as if he was close to breaking point. "Tonight."

Harry shivered with anticipation, covering Tom's arm around his middle, their right hands still joined. "There's no way I'll be able to get my trousers on now."

Tom laughed softly, his arm tightening around Harry's middle while he reached past him to slide open the top drawer. When he pulled something out, Harry's eyes widened.

"Tom? What… what is that?"

"A belated Yule present." Tom fumbled with the object one-handed while kissing the side of Harry's neck. "A little something to keep reminding you of what awaits you later tonight."

Harry flushed with sudden understanding, and huffed out a nervous laugh. "You wouldn't. I'll be on edge enough as it is all even-- Ah!"

Tom's fingers, holding what looked like a slim, foamy, miniature spinning top, pushed down Harry's underwear. "This will help you relax."

"Oh no, it won't!" Harry chuckled, but did nothing to stop Tom's fingers, slick with something cool, from gently probing at his opening. "What are you doing?"

"Preparing you," Tom laughed softly just as his fingers slipped inside. His arm tightened around Harry's waist when he jolted at the intrusion.

"Oh god, _now_?" Harry squawked, his fingers digging into Tom's arm. "It'll be hours!"

"Just imagine how well prepared you'll be by the time the ball is over. And how ready for me. I did promise there would be no trace of pain."

Tom's husky reminder made any further protest impossible. And when Harry met his eyes again in the mirror, half-lidded and feverish, and felt Tom's fingers withdraw only to lift the plug and suck on it until it shone with his saliva, and then, ever so gently, slide the lubricated plug into his hole, he cried out, his mouth left open and gasping while Tom withdrew his hand, rucked up Harry's shirt, and closed his palm around him. It took less than a minute until Harry came all over the mirror in front of them, clenching around the object inside him while screaming Tom's name.

* * *

"Oh, sweet Merlin. Oh God. Oh no…" Harry was muttering as they waited for the girls at the last landing above the main staircase. He was trying his best no to move too much, and Tom was positively alight with mirth.

"Relax, Harry," he said softly, knowing full well that was impossible.

Harry tried to glare at him and moved forward to tell Tom off eye to eye, when he felt the plug shifting with his movements and closed his eyes, gasping.

"If it helps," Tom whimpered. "Seeing you like this all evening won't do much for my composure either. I hadn't considered that."

Harry opened his eyes, looking slightly mollified and very smug. "Good."

Tom laughed huskily.

"What so funny?" Pansy called out, bouncing down the stairs towards them with Minerva and a nearly unrecognisable Myrtle in tow.

"You don't want to know," Harry muttered. "On second thought - _you_ lot probably do, but you don't need to." He glanced at Tom, who nodded fervently in agreement.

Pansy pouted. But then she grinned at them. "You two look completely amazing." Minerva hummed in agreement, assessing them.

Tom and Harry wore dress robes, clad from head to foot in black safe for starched white shirts and brocade vests in scarlet with contrasting buttons, bowties and cufflinks - Tom's in silver, Harry's in gold. Both were sporting the rings they'd given each other for Yule - Pansy and Minerva had taken them to the same store for presents and they'd unknowingly and to the girls' delight ended up buying identical rings, except for the stones; Tom was wearing a bright red ruby on his hieroglyph ring.

They complimented the girls on their outfits - Minerva wore a silver-toned dress with green accents, Pansy wore gold with red. They'd all taken care to be a mismatched, matched set.

"Myrtle, you look very pretty too," Harry finally said, causing the girl to blush and giggle, and then nearly fall down the stairs when Alexander Barnes appeared beside her, gaping at her.

"You're beautiful, Myrtle!" Alexander said, taking her hand to lift it to his lips, smiling as his eyes took in her bouncy corkscrew curls and the way the girls had artfully transfigured the frames of her glasses into a seashell shape.

"You're quite handsome yourself," Myrtle replied, grinning.

"Enough complimenting. Let's face the music," Pansy declared with a smile. "I can't wait to see their faces."

Alexander and Myrtle looked back and forth between them as Tom took Harry's hand and Pansy slipped her arm into Minerva's. "Oh my goodness, you're actually going to walk into the Great Hall and knock them all out?" Alexander laughed out loud. "Brilliant." Myrtle was cackling gleefully.

The Great Hall at large was a sea of gaping, stunned faces when the doors swept open to admit an utterly transformed Myrtle led in by the tall, imposing Prefect, who somehow managed to make his Hufflepuff-yellow satin vest look elegant rather than silly. The collective jaws remained firmly down when that unlikely couple was followed by the head girl, leading in a very pleased looking Pansy. Hushed whispers immediately began all around the hall, when someone squeaked and pointed rather rudely to the door.

Tom, holding Harry's hand firmly in his, swept into the hall, managing to look at once proud and completely unconcerned about the utterly flabbergasted reactions.

Harry couldn't help himself. He beamed all the way to the dance floor in front of the teachers' dais, returning the pressure of Tom's hand. While his happiness was not _entirely_ due to not having to hide anymore, but also to Tom's rather naughty idea, a single sideways glance confirmed that Tom was perfectly at ease showing him off.

The silence in the hall was deafening, disrupted only by a sniffling girl or two, and the occasional giggle from Myrtle, while the three couples stood on the dance floor, waiting for everyone - students and stunned teachers alike - to get over them sufficiently for the ball to continue.

"Um… music, please?" Dippet finally croaked.

The small band in the corner immediately started playing, and when no one else even moved towards the dance floor, Tom shrugged, looked down at Harry, and said, "Shall we?"

"Oh, yes." Harry grinned when Tom lifted their joined hands and kissed his knuckles. And then he was in Tom's arms, and his dance lessons came back to him right away. They were sweeping across the floor in a waltz, joined a moment later by Pansy and Minerva, and then Alexander leading Myrtle - neither of which particularly good at it, but more than eager to give it their best shot.

The whispers started up again, people feeling safe to gossip now they were drowned out by the music which soon changed to a rumba, then to a foxtrot.

Harry was dying a thousand deaths, and not, as he'd expected, from embarrassment at being the centre of attention, but because he was the centre of attention while dancing with a plug up his arse which teased his prostate with every step and every turn. "Promise you'll take this out somehow before there's a tango," he whispered into Tom's ear on a close turn.

Tom laughed. "I don't really think you want me to do that _here_ , do you, Harry?"

Harry groaned, burying his face in Tom's shoulder, the hairs on the nape of his neck tingling when Tom's warm laughter washed over his skin there.

Someone at the edge of the dance floor muttered, "Poufs!" as they danced past, to which Tom replied with a loud and clear, "How very observant."

Minerva cackled when she and Pansy next passed them. "Wonder how long it'll take before they'll get over the shock?"

At that moment, some of the teachers started to join them on the dance floor, Dumbledore leading their Care of Magical Creatures professor out, and Slughorn shuffling about with his arms in the vicinity of Professor Merrythought's hips. Finally, a few isolated students began to dance as well, and the pressure of being gawked at continually died down.

"Thank Merlin for that," Pansy murmured, then giggled. "Minnie, look!" She nodded towards where Myrtle and Alexander were taking great pains to dance about wildly in front of a group of Ravenclaw girls; Olive Hornby, finally unable to take it anymore, stormed off in a huff. "I _do_ like that Myrtle." Pansy grinned. "She's adorably evil when she wants to be."

Minerva laughed. "Adorably evil is what Slytherins are good at." When Pansy smirked, she asked, "What?"

Pansy switched positions and started leading Minerva across the dance floor. "Remind me later to tell you which house I used to be in." She chuckled when Minerva's eyes widened comically.

* * *

The evening progressed, with less and less curious stares and mutterings and more and more students starting to join in the dancing. Once in a while, Harry had to excuse himself because the friction caused by his… intruder combined with Tom's continued proximity were getting too much for him.

He watched with a smile while Tom danced with a furiously blushing Myrtle, manfully pretending that she wasn't crushing his feet on every second step, when a familiar voice came from next to him.

"That was a very bold move, Harry - flying into the face of convention for what is important to you."

Harry looked up at Dumbledore's face, but seeing a faint smile there, along with just a hint of that once familiar twinkle in his eyes, he relaxed and smiled in return. "Perhaps there's a bit of Gryffindor in me, sir."

"I wouldn't be at all surprised," Dumbledore murmured, assessing him carefully. "Professor Slughorn has been telling me about his club and the suggestions you and your friends have come up with." He offered a lemon drop to Harry, then unwrapped and popped one in his own mouth. "I admit to being impressed. Though after tonight, not necessarily surprised." He laughed warmly. "You seem intent on making history, young man."

Harry chuckled. "Not really. I just think the odd chapter could do with a rewrite."

"I'm sure that's true enough." Dumbledore looked at him for a moment. "For what it's worth, Harry, I would be proud if you were part of Gryffindor house."

Harry swallowed hard. "That's worth a lot, sir, thanks."

Dumbledore excused himself, smiling and nodding at Tom who just returned.

"Everything okay?" Tom asked.

Harry smiled. "Perfect. Let's dance again." He turned too hastily, pure pleasure shooting through his nervous system. Staggering into Tom's arms, he moaned softly. "You're going to pay for making me wear this thing."

"Gladly." Tom smiled, then laughed out loud when a tango started up and Harry groaned as if in pain, because he knew that pain was the last thing on Harry's mind.


	30. Magic and His Muse

Dancing a tango with Tom was just about the most erotic thing Harry could think of. Doing so in front of an audience was both more and less so, but doing it while feeling a plug shifting with every movement inside his by then hyper-sensitive arse, burying itself deeper with each dip and shifting outwards again with each spin, was a very special kind of torture. He couldn't even feel overly sorry for Tom's sympathetic and somewhat strained expression, especially as Tom insisted on whispering dirty things in his ear whenever their faces were close enough.

Harry was coming apart at the seams by the time he found himself stretched backwards across Tom's knee at the end of what felt like the longest tango in history. The plug was as deep inside him as it could possibly go; at least he hoped so. Sparks of pleasure were shooting through him, and he hoped desperately that the way Tom was using his wide sleeve to hide his erection didn't make it all the more obvious.

There were a few hesitant claps and even a cheer or two from their spellbound audience. Harry looked back and up at Minerva and Pansy, finding them grinning. Alexander and Myrtle, as well as the teachers who had at some point during their dance moved off the floor, began to clap enthusiastically. And eventually, a few more students started clapping as well - it _had_ been quite the dance, after all.

Harry blushed, breathing a sigh of relief when Tom pulled him up and held him close enough to cover up the state Harry - no, both of them, Harry realised with a shiver of delight - were in.

"Thank you for that very… um, impressive performance," Dippet declared loudly, even while looking rather flustered and out of his depth. "Time for a very special fireworks display outside!" he called out, clearly relieved to be able to change the subject. "Follow me, students. And faculty." He hurried towards the doors, with everyone following obediently. Many of the students were chatting excitedly, though probably not about the fireworks, considering they kept looking back over their shoulders. Some were giggling unashamedly.

Tom held Harry back with his arm around his waist. "Let's give that a miss, shall we?" he purred in his ear.

"God, yes," Harry agreed, chuckling breathlessly.

Pansy thumped him playfully on the shoulder on her way past. "Not coming _outside_ , then?" She grinned. Harry's deepening blush had her cackling, and with a laughing Minerva, Myrtle and Alexander in tow, she followed everyone else outside, throwing knowing looks back at Tom and Harry.

Before the crowd was even out of sight, Tom took Harry's hand and led him out of the Great Hall the back way, towards a staircase leading up, rather than down towards the dungeons, as Harry had expected.

"Where are we going?" Harry moaned. "This is no time for detours, Tom!"

Tom laughed huskily. "I quite agree. It's a surprise. Trust me."

"I do." Harry smiled at him while they stood on the stairs for a moment, looking deep into each other's eyes. Then he squeezed Tom's hand and they hurried further up, along corridors and sets of stairs, until they reached the fifth floor and headed towards a room Harry remembered quite well. "The Prefect's bathroom?" he gasped.

Tom looked at him in surprise. "You know where it is? How?"

"Um… A prefect told me about it. In… well, the other…"

"Where you come from?" Tom whispered, and Harry nodded. "Oh. Do I want to know why?"

"Why what?" Harry blinked. When he realised Tom looked a bit upset, he understood. Chuckling, he said, "It's nothing like that. He gave me a tip about figuring out a clue for the Triwizard Tournament. And he suggested this bathroom."

"I see." Now Tom looked sheepish. "Sorry. It was that handsome boy I… saw." He paled. "Cedric?"

Harry nodded, then smiled reassuringly. "Are you jealous?"

"Of course not," Tom denied, not very convincingly.

Harry chuckled. "Well, don't be. I was only fourteen, and I don't think he… actually, I don't really know." He chuckled, remembering the peculiar way Cedric had told him about the bathroom. "And it hardly matters now." When Tom still didn't look mollified, Harry realised it was more than jealousy. "And don't be upset or feeling guilty either. Cedric will be okay now." He stroked Tom's cheek, smiling, and finally, Tom smiled back. "Show me your surprise," Harry said softly.

"Give me a couple of minutes inside, while you wait? I need to prepare things. I didn't want to do it earlier, in case someone else should use the room in the meantime."

Harry nodded, and Tom slipped into the bathroom, returning shortly after. With a smirk, he said, "Close your eyes."

"Okay." Harry laughed and did as he was told. He let himself be led through the door and, once inside, felt Tom reach past him to push it shut gently, murmuring a multitude of locking and silencing spells as he did so.

Harry - hyperaware of Tom's every move, his scent, his breathing - shivered in anticipation. He felt warm hands on his shoulders, prompting him to walk further into the room.

Tom whispered into his ear, "Open them."

Harry did. And gasped. " _Tom!_ "

Tom stood at his side, smiling. "Do you like it?"

Harry actually stumbled a little, feeling dizzy, though it might have had to do with him standing in a field of stars with nothing but the vast pool in front of him, filled to the brim with cloudy, ethereally translucent water emitting the faintest scent of vanilla and something sweet and musky.

Tom had performed his celestial magic spell on the entire Prefect's bathroom, turning it into a section of night sky with only the pool seemingly floating in the centre like an asteroid. The only illumination was provided by the occasional star sparkling ever so much brighter than its neighbours. The stained-glass mermaid, sitting on a cloud instead of her usual rock, was huffing in indignation, having been forced to temporarily swap her fishtail for a long gown and a pair of wings for authenticity.

Harry laughed, then stared at Tom in sheer awe. "The things you can do…"

Tom's eyes were soft with emotion as he stroked his fingers over Harry's cheek. "Without you, I'd never think to do these things. You're the muse to my magic, Harry."

Harry felt tears welling up in his eyes, and his voice cracked when he whispered, "I love you _so_ much."

Tom wrapped his arms around Harry's waist and kissed him. He parted Harry's lips with his tongue, swiping it through Harry's sweet mouth until it found and flickered against Harry's tongue. His arms tightened, one hand moving up to Harry's nape and into his hair from underneath, while the other slid down to the small of Harry's back, holding him close.

Harry whimpered into the kiss, any need for air overwritten by his need for Tom's taste as his mouth was ravished, his lips drawn into Tom's mouth one at a time, his tongue sucked on hard until his near constant erection became so demanding of attention, he could no longer ignore it. "Tom," he gasped, making use of a moment's breath. Tom hummed against his lips, and Harry begged, shivering, "Please, Tom. I can't wait anymore."

Tom groaned, pushing Harry's robes off his shoulders and undoing his shirt hastily. Harry helped at first. But it was quicker if he worked on Tom's clothes instead, and they undressed each other as if it was a race. When they were finally both naked, Tom took his hand and led him to the edge of the pool across the black illusion of sky, climbed into the water until he stood by the ledge on the inside, and helped Harry across the rim.

There, he stopped him going further, smiling and pointing out the thick black towel lying across the edge of the pool. "Can you sit there?" he asked huskily.

"Don't know," Harry said, cringing a little at the thought of the plug if he should endeavour to sit.

Tom laughed softly. "I'll help you." He managed to settle Harry into place slowly, but the plug shifted up far enough to send yet another bolt of pleasure through Harry's body. Before Harry had even recovered from that, Tom placed a hand on his belly, watching the way Harry's erection bobbed as if demanding his attention. "Poor darling," he murmured, his eyes meeting Harry's. "I've made you wait so long."

Harry said, in a voice so deep and rumbling, it was barely his own, "Take it out, Tom. I need _you_ inside me."

Tom was breathing heavily. "The moment I take it out, I'll be taking its place, I promise." At Harry's whimper, he added, "But I'm going to relax you a little first." Before Harry's thought processes could catch up, Tom's hand curled around his erection - achingly hard and weeping pearls of fluid at a constant pace after hours of neglect.

Harry gasped, supporting himself on his hands behind his back, watching Tom's long fingers stroke him, knowing he would come within moments. "Please," he begged. "Don't make me wait anymore."

Tom looked up at him from under long lashes, licked his lips, and leaned down to slide his full lips over the flushed, leaking tip. He didn't stop there, taking more and more of the pulsing shaft into his mouth. He was breathing hard, concentration tightening his face as he continued to meet Harry's eyes, and then he swallowed, trying not to gag at the unfamiliar sensation of his throat being filled.

Harry screamed, coming hard, but the suction didn’t lessen, milking him as tightly as he could stand, Tom's hands sliding under his arse cheeks, squeezing, shifting the plug in the process, and he fell back on the soft towel with a whimper of pleasure-pain, and Tom still kept sucking. And on the very last jolt of pleasure, long fingers found their way to his hole, and with infinite care, Tom wriggled out the plug, twisting and turning it to stretch Harry as much as he possibly could, extending his orgasm even longer, until the foamy intrusion finally popped free, leaving him gaping open and his muscles and nerves contracting over nothing.

Tom growled at the sight, discarded the plug, and, bracing himself, pulled Harry over the rim of the pool into the water and his lap. His hands slipped from Harry's waist down to his buttocks as soon as the water took most of his weight. Spreading Harry open, their eyes fixed on each other, he let him slide down over the head of his cock, holding him there while they caught their breath.

"More," Harry urged, his hands on Tom's shoulders, his eyes almost black and his lips parted. "Tom, please!" And as whatever was scenting the water slickened his passage, Tom penetrated him deeper, inch by agonising inch, until finally, Harry was fully settled on his lap, trembling hard and gasping out, "Oh God, I can feel you all the way inside me!"

Tom's eyes, feverish and soft with emotion, fixed on Harry's, and his hands were shaking against Harry's flesh underwater. "You're so tight, despite the plug," he gasped in a stunned voice. "As if you're never going to let go."

"I won't," Harry murmured, wrapping his arms around Tom's neck, careful not to shift until Tom did. "I'll never let go of you."

Tom smiled a stunningly sweet smile, lifting Harry an inch or two and letting him slide back into position, that tiny shift almost enough to make him come. "Harry, I can't hold out," he gasped shakily. "You're so hot and tight, and I want you so very much."

"Don't worry. We'll just do it again," Harry assured him with a smile. "And again. And again." He stroked through Tom's hair, looking deep into his eyes. Their lips were a breath apart, and Harry licked at Tom's lower lip, then drew it between his own.

Tom responded in kind, and soon they were playing with each other, licking and nipping and suckling at soft pink flesh, careful not to move, just teasing and whispering endearments until they were too short of breath to speak at all.

Tom's pressed tender kisses on his cheeks, his nose, under his chin, down his throat. His right hand moved between Harry's spread cheeks, teasing the skin around the place where they were joined, and they both shivered at the reality of it.

"Please, Tom. Let go. We've been waiting so long," Harry pleaded huskily.

And Tom gripped his buttocks tight, looked into Harry's eyes, and pushed into him as hard as the pressure and weightlessness of the water allowed. It wasn't enough, and he let go and held onto the rim of the pool, angling his hips upwards while instructing, "Hold onto me."

Harry gripped his shoulders and cried out when Tom's next thrust was more forceful than expected, causing water to splash over the side of the bath when Harry countered the pressure by rocking down against Tom. "Yes!" he growled. "Yes, Tom! Harder!"

Moaning, eyes locked on Harry's, clutching the edge of the pool with white-knuckled hands, Tom began pounding into him in earnest, feeling Harry's legs clenching around his waist, his crossed ankles behind him keeping them locked together against the buoyancy of the water. He thrust upwards, while Harry bore down on him, arching his back, neither breaking eye contact. "So close," he gasped.

"Fill me up, Tom," Harry pleaded. "I need you!"

Tom groaned, thrusting upwards one more time, hard enough to make Harry cry out in ecstasy and send gallons of water sloshing over the side, and then he was coming, and Harry was clenching around him, and he was home, home... "Home," he whispered, shuddering with emotion and feeling tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, and Harry's lips were there to kiss them away and smile against his salty skin and whisper just the words he needed to hear. And he slumped into Harry's arms, and they bobbed in the water together, clinging to one another.

When Tom finally slipped out of Harry, reluctantly but inevitably, they both whimpered, then shared a silly smile. "You've made me see stars," Harry murmured with a nod upwards at the sky surrounding them, and they both chuckled softly. "Happy?" Harry asked softly, stroking the dark tendrils of Tom's hair back from his wet forehead.

"So happy," Tom replied, returning the gesture. "I can't wait to feel you inside me like that." He smiled bashfully, and it seemed so incongruous to Harry after what they'd just done, he chuckled softly. "What?" Tom asked with a raised brow.

"You kept me on edge all night with a plug up my arse, and you're embarrassed to ask me to take you?" Harry smiled sweetly.

"Do you want to?" Tom sounded eager and excited at the prospect, and when Harry shifted them around - pushing Tom back onto the ledge while he floated in the water before him - his eyes widened and his breathing sped up.

"Do I want to?" Harry asked breathlessly. "Just tell me when, Tom. Now?"

"Yes!" Tom gasped.

"How do I…" Harry was breathing hard. "What do I use to prepare you?"

"Nothing," Tom said, determined. "I'm ready."

"It'll hurt," Harry said worriedly.

"You would never hurt me." Tom's voice was soft but sure. "Please." He spread his legs below the water's surface. "The bath oil is natural and very slippery. I… well, I did some research." He smiled and shrugged when Harry chuckled nervously.

Tom pleading to be taken was too much to resist, and Harry moved forward into his arms again, his hand sliding between Tom's thighs on the ledge, stroking his half-hard cock a few times before moving underneath, cupping his balls gently one by one, then searching further back and behind them, feeling for the opening to Tom's body. When his finger slipped inside with relative ease, he gasped.

Tom was biting his lower lip, watching Harry's face intently while he felt his finger sliding deeper. His breathing sped up, his need to be possessed by Harry allowing him to relax and stay open, and by the time Harry added another finger, and then one more, Tom was shaking with need. "I'm ready," he whispered. "So ready."

Harry gulped. "I don't know if I have the energy left to do this against the water," he admitted.

Tom scrambled up and onto the edge of the pool, settling on the towel and moving backwards, his legs spread invitingly and his long, slender cock standing up in its nest of wet curls.

Harry cursed under his breath, the sight hardening him fully in an instant, and rushed to follow. In his haste to get to Tom, he slipped on the ledge, splashing back into the water. When he came up, spluttering and blinking water from his eyes, Tom was leaning back on his arms, legs still spread, and looking amused.

This time, Harry managed to scramble out of the bath and crawled over Tom's body, dripping water on him and staring down into his eyes with a smile. "You look irresistible like that," he growled.

"Then don't resist," Tom breathed, reaching up around Harry's neck.

Harry was panting as he shifted into position, his cock rigid and dripping when he pressed it against Tom's hole. He pushed forward gently and, with a short, sharp gasp of pain, Tom let him in. "Sorry. Oh God, sorry." Harry started to draw out, but Tom clung to him.

"Don’t you dare leave me." There was more than desire in Tom's voice when he looked up at Harry out of wide, dark eyes. He looked vulnerable enough to fall apart.

Harry gazed down into his eyes tenderly. "Never. I'm yours and you're mine." He gave a slight thrust, surprising Tom enough to slide in a little deeper almost effortlessly. "Mine," he repeated with another thrust, the heat and tightness threatening to undo him. "Forever," he whispered. And he pushed in the rest of the way, his moan drowned out by Tom's.

Tom was breathing hard, his lips parted and his eyes glistening as he clung to Harry. He was shaking all over.

"My beautiful lover," Harry whispered. He retracted a little and pushed back in, feeling Tom spasming around him. " _So_ perfect." He supported himself on either side of Tom's waist with his hands and started to thrust in earnest, whimpering when Tom drew up his long legs to open himself wider. And he leaned down to kiss him, then continued to thrust, feeling Tom's body clenching around him. Too tight, too hot. Harry felt himself shattering into a thousand pieces, and he spilled into Tom's hot channel, crying his name while he drowned in his wide, loving eyes.

"Yours, Harry. Forever," Tom finally whispered with a sated smile, drawing Harry down into his arms.

"And ever," Harry agreed, cuddling close with a happy sigh.

The blushing mermaid peeking out from behind her folded wings would never be the same again. But then, few things would in this new world - born inside a tiny magical universe of stars, created out of love.


	31. Epilogue: History of Magic - Revised

"And to this day," droned Binns. "It is acknowledged in our world that had he not fallen in love with the kind, self-sacrificing witch Griselda Hughes, Dante Garibaldi would have become the most powerful dark wizard of the Middle Ages. It was only Griselda's love and influence which prevented his rise to ultimate power and brought about his eventual abandonment of the Dark Arts." Binns smiled his ghostly smile, sensing that for once, the class appeared to be paying attention.

"Bollocks, that," said Ron, and a blond boy next to him chuckled.

"Not at all, Mr Weasley," Binns stated, far too dead to worry about bad language. "Many a wizard of the past with extraordinary magical abilities has chosen the path of light against the odds, his upbringing, his very environment. Why, even this school has not always been a welcoming place to young wizards and witches of different backgrounds! I know it seems hard to imagine, but interhouse relations were rather more strained than today's friendly rivalry would lead one to believe."

"Really?" Ron asked, surprised at the idea.

Binns smiled a hollow but kind smile. "Quite. Only about fifty years ago, a student attempted to open the notorious Chamber of Secrets. His plans were foiled by two of his housemates, thank Merlin."

Hermione bounced up and down, raising her hand. "I've read about that in _Hogwarts: A History_ , professor. Wasn't he stopped by two former Hogwarts teachers?"

Binns nodded. "Indeed, Miss Granger. Two Slytherin students who, I'm proud to say, have gone on to teach here for many years after graduating. Why, they were founding members of the Slug Club, together with Professor Slughorn and your Transfigurations and Divinations teachers."

"Blimey," Ron stated. "Imagine that - McGonagall and Parkinson helped start the Club." He scratched his neck. "What about those other two, sir?"

"Mr Potter and Mr Riddle..." Binns smiled in fond recollection. "Last seen in Egypt, I believe, and still as happy as the day they became the first bonded wizards in over three centuries. Trail blazers, those gentlemen, in a number of ways." He chuckled. "Wizard unions were actually frowned upon until they insisted on being bonded."

"I think I like them," Ron muttered, turning his head to meet a pair of warm grey eyes. When they winked at him, he lowered his head, grinning. His ears were bright red.

Hermione heaved a long-suffering sigh at the familiar display.

* * *

After class had finished, Draco was waiting in the doorway, smirking. "Don't forget Quidditch on Saturday, Weasley." He leaned in close enough so only Ron could hear, "I'm going to give you the pounding of your life."

Ron shivered. "Only if I don’t pound you first. I'd like to see you sit on your broom afterwards."

Draco laughed huskily. "Flirt."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm off to the library. I'm all curious about those two teachers now. I keep hearing about them - not just at Slug Club meetings, but from half the professors."

"Good idea," Ron said. "I'll come with you."

"Mind if I tag along?" Draco asked, shouldering his bag. "I'm intrigued myself." When Hermione looked a bit put out, he grinned. "Oh, stop sulking, Granger. You're just worried I might learn more about them than you."

Hermione gaped at him, but when Draco laughed at her, she shrugged. "Well, come along then."

* * *

An hour later, after referencing and cross-referencing a number of books on famous Hogwarts alumni and Muggle Relations, Hermione stood between two shelves, staring wide-eyed at the fly leaf of a thin, non-descript volume; it was a handbook on wizards researching in the field of mixed magical and non-magical societies of the ancient past. A loose sheet of parchment lay in the open pages, addressed to none other than her. By name. "Ron! Draco!" she screeched, oblivious to Madame Pince's disapproving shushing.

They rushed to her side. "What's the matter?" Ron asked, peering over her shoulder.

"Read it," Hermione instructed, her hands shaking and almost dropping the book.

Ron took it from her and frowned down at it. " _Dear Hermione, I knew you would eventually end up reading this. There's more to life than books, you know._ " He laughed out loud, while Draco muttered, "Hear, hear."

Hermione glared at them both. "Keep reading, Ron."

Ron gasped. "Bloody hell! _As for you, Ron… Who'd have thought - you really are the thing I miss the most. Take good care of Hermione, but don't let her boss you around too much._ "

Draco smirked. "Whoever that's from, he sure knows you." He pouted. "Although I'm not happy about that 'missing you' thing, Ron."

"Yeah, that's a bit weird," Ron admitted. He read the rest of the parchment. " _I really do miss you both. Be happy. And when you find someone to love, hold on to them and make them happy - there's nothing more important. All the very best, and have wonderful lives. Signed - a friend._ "

"He or she is right, but who is it?" Draco asked, smiling when Ron met his eyes and blushed.

"Honestly, you two," Hermione huffed. "Whoever it is, I'm sure they didn't mean it was okay to keep making cow's eyes every time you see your boyfriend."

"Don't know about that, Hermione." Ron grinned. "This bloke sounds like a right romantic sap to me."

She frowned at the parchment. "How do you know it's from a man?"

Ron shrugged. "Just a feeling." He turned the parchment over, inspecting it. It was standard school-issue parchment. "Must have been a student. Or one of my mad brothers trying to be funny."

Draco took it from him and examined it as well. "We should show it to Professor Parkinson. She's always on about the past being at least as important as the future. Maybe she can _divine_ who wrote this?"

"Worth a try, I suppose." Hermione snatched it back from him. "She does _seem_ to know what she's talking about, even if I don't think much of her subject."

* * *

When they handed Professor Parkinson the parchment, she scanned it, her dark eyes growing bigger with each line. And then she burst out laughing.

"Um, professor?" Ron asked. Their Divinations teacher - while always on the merry side - looked about to fall off her chair. "Are you all right?"

"Perfectly fine, Mr Weasley." She looked up at the three students standing in front of her desk, her barely shoulder-long black hair swinging back and forth as she visibly shook with suppressed laughter. "This is quite amusing, not to mention excellent advice, but I couldn't possibly tell you who wrote it."

"Ah. Pity, that," Ron muttered.

Hermione looked sulky but unsurprised to have her suspicions about Divinations confirmed. "Thought not," she said.

Draco gave their professor a calculating look. "Couldn't as in not knowing, or--"

"Oh my, is that the time!" Pansy exclaimed. "Sorry I couldn't help. Must dash." And so she did, amazingly sprightly for a woman her age. "You'll see yourselves out, won't you, dears?" And with that, the door to her classroom - a welcoming haven in shades of blue and green and smelling faintly of Egyptian lotus blossoms - swung shut behind her.

When she got to the rooms she shared with Minerva, she rushed inside. "You'll never believe what I just saw, Minnie!"

Minerva McGonagall peered at her over her glasses from where she sat by the fire. "What did you see, dearie?" She sipped her brandy, smiling.

"A letter from Harry to Weasley and Granger!"

The glass fell from Minerva's fingers and shattered. "Oh Merlin, he didnae sign it!?"

"Of course not." Pansy laughed, vanishing the shattered glass and spilled brandy with a flick of her wand. She passed Minerva the letter she'd surrepticiously confiscated, just to be on the safe side, and they both giggled helplessly at its contents. "You should have seen their faces."

"I can imagine! We'll have to tell Harry they found it. He'll want to know."

"Absolutely." Pansy was about to write a note to be sent by owl, when an idea came to her. "Minnie, how do you feel about a little weekend trip to Egypt? We could tell him in person."

Minerva's face lit up. "You always have the best ideas. But I do hope we don’t have to dig our way into the bowels of another pyramid or sand covered temple to find those two."

"Or Apparate all over the desert looking for them, just because they're obsessed with sleeping under the stars." Pansy settled on the couch next to Minerva and rested her cheek on her shoulder.

Minerva squeezed her hand. "They never did tell us what that's all about, you know."

Pansy smiled. "It'll be something terribly romantic, I imagine. So there won't be any point in asking Myrtle or Alex, either. Though we should talk to them - Alex will know where exactly Harry and Tom are right now."

"It pays to have spies in Muggle Relations and Magical Mysteries," Minerva agreed. "Speaking of mysteries - Albus has offered me a teaching assistant." She smiled. "The old goat refused to tell me his name at first, and I know why. He'll be perfect for the job, but I do worry about the students concentrating on their classes with a teacher like that."

Pansy laughed. "Oh dear, not another handsome hero! Do you remember all the student crushes on Tom and Harry during their teaching days?"

"Do I?" Minerva laughed out loud. "I've never seen Harry more horrified than when I told him little Lily Evans had come to me and confessed her crush on him."

Pansy snorted with laughter. "Who could forget that? So, who is the new teaching Adonis?" She snuggled closer to Minerva and summoned them both cups of tea.

Minerva smiled, "Our very own former Triwizard Champion."

"Dear God - Cedric Diggory?" Pansy groaned. "I can hear the little hearts breaking already."

Minerva sighed. "Well, I suppose on the upside, no one will notice me slowly fading into my dotage, not with a distraction like that."

Pansy frowned. "Dotage indeed!" She twisted her fingers in Minerva's long black hair, always worn down over her shoulders, and looked into her bright blue eyes affectionately. "I'm still sore from all the dancing we did at the ministry ball last weekend, and you talk about dotage."

Minerva stroked Pansy's cheek, smiling. "We could always talk to Harry and Tom about that vitality potion they keep offering us. Though I'm not sure whether to be spooked or envious that they look twenty years younger than me."

"Than both of us!" Pansy groaned. "Well, they do say men age better. And I'm sure they only came up with the potion so they could keep shagging each other silly several times a day."

Minerva dissolved into laughter. "Some things never seem to change."

"And just as well," Pansy said with a smile, then kissed her sweetly.

* * *

 _Somewhere in Egypt..._

"They found it, Harry! " Tom announced when he entered their tent. He stopped and smiled when he saw Harry lying on the camp bed, shirtless and slightly dishevelled due to being too distracted to renew the cooling charm that Tom made sure never lasted quite long enough. He congratulated himself on his cunning.

Harry had been inspecting a small ornamental container and conversing with Thoth about its possible uses in ancient times. On hearing Tom's voice, he set the vial down and smiled across at him, pondering how lucky he was. Tom looked like a muggle movie star in a desert picture, having only grown more handsome with age; his light summer gear was a breathtaking contrast to his tanned skin and eyes sparkling with excitement.

Thoth - familiar enough with his masters' antics to know it would be safer to make himself scarce - slithered across the pillow to take up residence on the small crate serving as a bedside table. From there, he hissed the equivalent of a Parsel-sigh.

Harry snorted. "You're turning into a sssnake curmudgeon, Thoth! You remind me of Ssseverusss." He smiled at Tom, who was laughing out loud at the comparison. "They really found it? Your charm on the parchment still worked?"

Tom gave a mock-pout. "Don't all my charms still work?" When Harry winked and nodded, he added, "And am I or am I not one of the greatest wizards alive?"

"I know you're one of the least humble ones. But definitely the most charming." Harry shifted on the narrow bed, patting the space beside him, and Tom was there in an instant.

"I'm constantly inspired to be charming," Tom murmured, running a warm, sand-roughened hand across Harry's tanned chest while insinuating one long leg between his thighs. He leaned in to nuzzle his slightly sweaty neck.

Humming in pleasure, Harry hooked his leg over Tom's hip and rolled them over. Gazing up into a pair of grey eyes he loved more than anything, he purred, "Not to mention imaginative."

Taking that as encouragement, Tom leaned down to murmur something into Harry's ear.

Harry shivered and croaked, "I know Pansy and Minerva are always on about how sexy Parseltongue sounds, but they've not heard you talking dirty in Arabic."

Brushing back Harry's damp black hair from his forehead, Tom smirked. "Speaking of which…"

"Which witch?" Harry asked. He stroked up and down Tom's biceps on either side of him.

"Which do you think? Our two favourite ones." Tom grinned. "They're coming to see us. Which, I imagine, means they'll tell us about your friends finding your letter."

"Oh, good." Harry chuckled. "Haven't seen them in all of a month. Shall we tell them we already know?"

Tom shook his head. "They don’t need to be told everything. Bad enough they asked Alex for our location because they wanted to be sure we, and I quote, _were not shagging in some ancient tomb and offending the gods_."

"Oh no, they didn't." Harry laughed.

Tom sighed. "Some things never change."

"And just as well," Harry said, drawing Tom down into a long, passionate kiss.

The kiss soon developed into something poor old Thoth chose to forego watching for once, in favour of slipping into the 18th Dynasty vial his masters had unearthed and doing some exploring of his own.

 

THE END


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